Summary:Miles and Gwen chill at Luke's Bar. Hod gets too creative for his own good. (It's Gwen's fault.) Log Info:Storyteller: None |
Related LogsTheme SongNone |
   |
Luke's is a bit slow in the afternoon, partially cause it's just after opening for them, and partially because even in Harlem getting hammered before 1pm is a smidgen frowned upon. A smidgen. The bar itself is mostly empty, a single elderly black man in the back corner sits at a table with a paper doing the crossword while sipping from a steaming cup. There are the sounds of someone moving about in the kitchen area, soft clinks and clacks of utensils on pans, and a voice that's equal parts sonorous and gravely rolling out words to a song that hasn't been popular in the better part of five decades.
As the door to the bar closes, the swinging door to the kitchen is kicked open enough that a voice can echo out into the room, "Have a seat! Be out in a minute, don't wanna burn this roux! Steal anything and Luke will put your own head up your own ass! I heard him do it once!" all this is shouted before the door swings back closed on the speaker, thumping back into place on it's spring loaded hinge. From the back corner the man doing the crossword in his booth, snorts once in mild amusement.
The door does indeed open to admit one Gwen Stacy; the young blonde pulls her earbugs out as comes into the bar with her backpack slung over one shoulder, and even though it's full of textbooks it doesn't really look like she's struggling with the weight. "Don't worry, I won't steal anything, Hod," she shouts back into the kitchen. "I'm pretty sure my policeman Dad would disapprove of that pretty bigly." She waves to the guy doing the crossword before picking a stool at the bar, dropping her bag to the floor and tucking it protectively between her feet (not that she really needs to worry about it in here of coruse).
"What's cooking, other than Roux?" she calls back. "This girl needs lunch before her afternoon classes." Is there a menu around? Yep, there's a menu, claimed and unfolded to look at. As for the song Hod is singing, well, it hasn't been popular since more than twice Gwen's age ago, so does she recognize it? …No, no she does not.
Arriving a few moments later, the door swings open, and a young man arrives in Luke's. Looking around, Miles reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small matchbook. Looking at it and the number on the back of it, he draws in a breath and straightens himself. He may be the son of a cop, but he totally doesn't have the same posture and stature of one of New York's finest. However that doesn't stop him from heading to the bar to climb up - okay the stool is a little high! - to belly to the bar. "Is Mister Luke in?" he asks, trying to sound older than he is.
It's not very effective. "I was looking for someone that used to come here often and if he might have some infomration on him." Miles' fingers play with the matchbook, unsure of himself for just a moment and then steels himself. "His name was Aaron. Aaron Davis." Also known as the Prowler to those that knew him in that market. Or have NYPD connectons that aren't his dad would know as well.
Then there's a glance over to Gwen, and the young man glances her over. Not so much as she's a girl and attractive and out of place here - but the words Policeman dad are there. "Yours too, huh?"
The kitchen door swings back open, presumadly from another kick from inside, "Well, how big a hurry you in?" the cook shouts back, kicks the door open agian, "Gimme just shy of an hour and I'll have an etouffee to make you propose marriage." It takes some time, roux's are notoriously dangerous, mess up once and you have to start over from scratch, but then a white guy who looks like he's shot in black and white film appears. He's not tall or short, skinny or broad, his black hair has it's first few strands of salt in the pepper and is cut in a hipstery do, floppy atop, short on the sides. His beard is trimmed neatly and maybe if his hair wasn't so dark he wouldn't look so pale, but pale he does appear to be. Weathered and pale. He has that look that's starting to fade in modern times, lean and sinewy, wolf like is what it would have been called in ages past. He's wearing all blacks, whites, and grays, including the black apron hanging around his neck. He wipes his hands on a towel as he enters the bar, his sleeves rolled up to show forearms made of twisted cord and tattoos. If he's a hipster, he was one before hipsters were hipsters, (making him THE MOST HIPSTER!!) since the ink on his arms is half faded to blues and dark greens rather then the blacks they once were. Oh yeah. And he's wearing mirrored shades indoors. So he's /totally/ the coolest guy alive. Uh-huh.
He stops just behind the bar in front of Gwen and seems to stare at something off her left shoulder, "Don't know any Davis but then I'm not big on names. People come and go kid," he can hear the lack of age in Miles' voice, "and most of them don't wanna be found if they're swinging through a joint like this. Still. If you want, you're free to ask around. Can't nobody stop you from asking." then to Gwen, "And what about you girlie? More Shitty Nachos or you branching out today, trying something new?"
Gwen quirks an eyebrow upwards, looking to Miles as he makes his inquiry. It takes her a moment to piece it together, but she ohs! "Dad's a cop? Yeah. Captain George Stacy, Precinct 19. I know the news makes him out to be the strictest and most ironclad of policemen ever, but honestly, it's not that bad I swear. …You should see him around Christmas, when he puts on a Santa Hat and sings carols." She pauses. "Do NOT tell him I told you that."
Her attention snaps back to the kitchen door, and to Hod, as the blind man comes marching out of it like he's the champion walking into a gladiatorial pit. "Err… Hod! It's Gwen, I was here a couple days ago, had the ribs, remember?" she grins, about to lift a hand to wave, when she remembers that it won't help. "Haven't actually tried the nachos yet. But I don't have an hour unfortunately, I gotta get to classes in a bit." She shrugs, "Got any burgers you can do? Otherwise… nachos?" She grins, and looks sideways to Miles again. "You should try his food while you're here, it's great." She pauses a moment, so she can return to talking about Dads without it seeming like she's a mental butterfly. "Where's your Dad work?"
"The Captain Stacy?" There's a grin shot towards Gwen. "You must be Gwen then, the one we're all told to be careful around at the Policeman's ball." He's teasing her just a little, but if it's one thing he knows, it's the whole 'child of a cop' picked on angle. "My dad's Sergeant Jefferson Davis over at the six-six." he explains, and then chuckles. "Look, my dad made me tell him I love him too outside of school. I totally have you beat on embarassing Dad Cop stories." comes the amused smile. "I won't tell him if you don't tell on me.."
And then he returns his attention to the man coming out. Miles was about to start to pull out a picture of Aaron to show to him - but the glasses convince him that may not be the /best/ idea. "I don't have an hour either, but if the burgers are good? Do you have po-boys?" Hey, he made the etoufee reference, Miles is going to run with it. Especially if he can get fried shrimp or catfish on a crusty roll. "My uncle was killed a couple of months ago. One of the few items I found that may help.. there was a matchbook from here with a number on it.
Miles Morales adds, for Gwen. "Sorry, I'm Miles. Miles Morales. You go to ESU as well?" Butterfly brain, meet Goldfish brain.
Hod snorts, "I remember." not a lot of underage white girls wandering this far north of 128th without a coterie, "I can do a burger, but I'm deducking points for lack of originality." he says before tilting his head at Miles. Hod wasn't exactly smiling up to now, but he wasn't frowning either, and now he takes on a more somber expression, "Sorry to hear about that kid. I got some extra left over from the etouffee fixings, I can swing you up an crayfish po'boy. Bit off menu, but I figure we can come to an agreement so long as you got at least a ten spot on you." then he turns to head back into the kitchen, "Gwenie! You treat the new kid good. He's more original then you and that already means he eeking you out in the polls." What polls? Wait? There's points?? Kitchen noises quickly begin again.
"So make it an original burger," Gwen replies, without missing a beat. "I didn't mean a burger like you'd get below the Golden Arches, Hod, if I wanted boring I wouldn't have come here." She grins; a grin that can be heard in her voice, too. "But I'll admit that when I'm on my way to school to write two exams and I'm trying to keep the chemical make-ups of ketones and alcohols straight in my brain, I might get less creative. I promise I'll ask for something more interesting than a burger next time."
Gwen holds out a hand to Miles, "Pleasure to meet you, Miles Morales. Yeah, I go to ESU. What are you studying?" She pauses, long enough to shake hands anyway. "I think all Dads are embarassing, Policeman Dads just have a bit more power to flex."
Gwen, at least, can see the picture Miles is producing, and she sneaks a glance at it. "Is that who you're looking for?" she asks.
"Only if the romoulade isn't from a jar!" Miles calls after Hod with a grin, and then winks at Gwen. "I'm ahead in the polls." he echoes, though he has no idea if that's a good thing or not. Looking around at the walls and decor of the bar, he lets out a low whistle. "Well, I see why my Uncle liked this place. It's very.. ethnic." It seems to be the best word for it as he takes out his wallet to open it and thumb through - he's making sure he does have enough. A couple of fives. A few ones. It'll have to do.
Gwen gets a glance at the picture, and after shaking her hand - thankfully they don't stick together, right? - and he moves to push the picture over to her. "That's my uncle Aaron. He was murdered a couple of months ago. I was hoping to see if someone here may have seen him talking to someone here - a meet. Or something. The address for here was one of the last places on his phone." How did Miles manage to download the phone?
From a jar he says! Hod would be insulted if Miles was like, a grown up. But you can't judge kids for their ignorance, they just havn't been taught better yet. He's in the kitchen for sometime, and since she threw down the gauntlet, the blind man had decided to go… off book with the burger. He sings as he cooks, a sad something, something with heavy delta blues influence in it, but the kitchen sounds and the door keep it pretty muffled, just shy of inteligable.
"Miles. I'm so sorry." Gwen studies the picture for a long moment, but shakes her head. "I'm sorry, I don't… I haven't seen your uncle, or heard anything. My Dad doesn't generally talk about cases, either, not since I saw the case file he left out by mistake when I was little, which basically convinced me I didn't want to be a cop like my Dad." She blushes softly, and scratches the back of her head. Awkward, Gwen. Real Awkward. "But, If I do hear anything, I'll let you know, yes?"
Well hey, at least they don't stick together when they shake hands, or get mixed up with each other's hair or something.
"I didn't know Hod had polls," she adds, partly just for a change of subject. "He might be… a little weird." She leans closer to half-whisper that, and hopefully it goes unheard. "But honestly, that just gives him points in my books. And he can cook. Seriously. You're in for a treat today."
"It's okay." Miles responds to Gwen as he moves to put the picture and the matchbook away. "I tried calling the number of the matchbook. Disconnected. Probably a burner phone." he admits quietly. Reaching up to scratch the back of his own head, fingers in his curls for a moment, he latches on to the change of subject that Gwen offers to him.
"If the po-boy is half as good as that roux smells? I have no doubt of it. My mom's from Puerto Rico, she cooks like that all the time." he explains. "At least when she can. She works day shift at New-York Presbytirian."
"I'm just in general studies at ESU. Got in on that new Opprotunities scholarship. I think it wasn't an accident. I mean. Looks good in the pamphlets, we gave a ride to the mixed kid of a cop and a nurse."
Gwen shrugs. "Who cares how you got there," she replies. "You got there. Someone decided to give you a 'free ride' so they could get some good optics? Great. Now's your chance to prove to them all that you deserve it." She rests her elbow on the bar, giving her backpack a little nudge as she moves, to keep it between her feet. Must be important besides just textbooks, whatever's in there. "I know how it feels. Honestly, I do; ever since my Mom died, people've been… like… how do I put it. Just little bit 'nicer' than they might've been? You know? Let me get away with things that they wouldn't let anyone else. Stuff like that."
The blonde girl shrugs her shoulders. "But it's about you, and you seem like a pretty sharp cookie, Miles. And I hope I'm not oversaying it, I do that sometimes." She pauses, watching Miles put the photo away. "I'll… ask my Dad sometime, if he knows how to track burner phones. He might know someone who does. …Preferably without letting on that I'm trying to actually track a burner phone. Maybe I'll tell him Peter's trying to find out, for an assignment for one of his courses."
"Yeah. I tried to talk to my Dad about it. But you know.." Miles rolls his shoulders. "Family. He told me to stay out of it." Tugging on his hoodie jacket a little, he considers the ties on it. "And yeah, being played with with the kid gloves. Totally how it feels." comes the response to the blonde as he gives her a side-grin. "Totally not oversaying, thanks for the help." Then she brings up another name he doesn't know.
"Peter? Boyfriend?" he asks curiously. After all, the way she brought him up out of the blue, so he's tracking on that line of questioning. "Wanna compare collections of courtsey cards?" comes the playful question. "I had a few before I started getting caught tagging when I was younger."
Gwen gets a wistful look in her eyes, and shakes her head. "No… Not boyfriend. Best friend. Peter Parker, the smartest, nerdiest kid on the planet. I…" she shrugs, "We could have dated, but we didn't. My fault, not his. End result he's dating someone else, and because I'm his best friend, I hope it works out and they're happy, 'cause that'd make me happy too." There is no trace of bitterness in her voice, either; just genuine and honest support for a friend. "And don't tell him I said that, either."
The young blonde smirks, "Sure, we can compare. …Tagging though, hunh? Your Dad must've blown a gasket if he's anything like mine." She leans a little closer, "Seriously, though, that awesome one on that… that one wall in Brooklyn. The one with all the stars. Was that one of yours, by some chance? 'cause it was awesome. And I mean really awesome."
There's a noise of frustration from the kitchen; well. Food might be a while, it seems. Oh well!
Wistful look? Miles made a note of it, and he chuckles a little as he reaches for a glass of water to draw from it. "I'm not sure if you're trying to sell me or yourself on the 'not my boyfriend, not really interested' angle, but work harder on the pitch." comes the response as he turns his head to the side to consider Gwen. "I don't know him, so my lips are sealed." Then they get back on track, and she brings up his mural, and his cheeks darken slightly - nodding his head.
"Yeah. Surprised dad didn't make me go out there with turpentine and a toothbrush and scrub it myself." he admits, lifting his head at the noises from the kitchen. There's no annoying buzzing in his head, so he's not reacting to it. "Think the crayfish rebelled on him?" comes the question to Gwen, as he fishes his phone from his pocket. Setting it on the counter, he swipes through a couple of galleries - and then shows her a series of pictures in an album of places he's tagged. Some of them may be just a little hard to get to. Rooftop water tanks, secured areas, things not exactly accessible for a simple walk.
Gwen shrugs her shoulders lightly. "The time has passed," she affirms. "Anyway. I remember it *did* get scrubbed, and that was a huge shame. Seriously, the city should be hiring people with your kind of skills to liven up the place, there's walls out there that are just crying because nobody's put art on them yet, and I think that's a shame."
An ear is cocked to the kitchen, and Gwen hmmms for a moment, "I think the crayfish are leading a revolution, supported by the French," she muses, "The hero sandwich has overpowered the chef and escaped… and the Roux is… That's 'The French', which is supporting the crayfish."
The picture gallery grabs Gwen's attention then, and she goes silent, aside from 'Oooh' at a few of them. More than a few, actually. "How do you get to those spots?" she inquires. "Do you also do parkour, Miles? Because putting up spray paint there," she points, "Is impressive."
"A little bit of parkour, a little sneaking around." Miles winks at Gwen. "Don't tell anyone I said that. I'm a nerd at heart. Math, especially." he admits as he laughs slightly. "Hire me? I think the people like their plain brick colored brick." he admits with a laugh, considering the revolt in the kitchen. "Perhaps the roll is Italian, and they have joined in the fray?" comes the suggestion.
"How about you? Any hobbies?" he asks her curiously. "I mean, besides admiring this Peter best friend fellow, a cop's child should have a little rebellion. It's in our DNA." he offers to her with a conspiratory tone.
Gwen points at the screen on Miles' phone, "That one," she declares. "Any chance you'd share that picture with me? That's awesome, I'd love to put that as the wallpaper on my phone… if that's okay with you, of course." She pauses, and chuckles softly. "Yeah, I've got some rebellion." She pulls out her own phone, unlocks it, and queues up a video; it's of Gwen, in a strappy tanktop, busy hammering out a pretty sick beat on a set of drums. She puts the phone down where Miles can easily watch, and rests her chin on her hands, elbows on the bar.
"If the Itallians have joined in, he's doomed," she muses. "The Itallians and French together should be unbeatable. Unless he can call in the Americans for support. …Or the Canadians. Did you ever read about them, in the First World War? Yikes."
"Don't know, going to bust me to your dad?" Miles asks. He's teasing her of course. A couple of swipes on his phone, and he sends her a push notification. The art's attached to it, before he takes her phone to pull up the video to watch her wail on the drums. It may be a little.. too metal for him, but at the same time, he can appreciate a good beat. "This is some pretty amazeballs stuff, Gwen."
"I don't know. You did ask him to make you a special burger. Original wasn't it?" comes Miles' response as he slides the phone back between them so they can share the music together. "What, the Canadians? Besides introducing bacon on pizzas, maple syrup, and pineapple on pizza.. ugh.. no, don't know that one." he admits. He's not the most studious kid, after all.
"That's one of my faster rhythms," Gwen replies, "I can slow it down, but people usually want to see me beating a set of drums like i'm trying to kill them when they ask for a demo, so." She shrugs lightly, and grins, "I one hundred per cent promise I will not bust you to your Dad. Cop kids gotta stick together, afterall."
Gwen shrugs, "Dad made me take a couple history courses when I was in high school, amongst other things, to 'round me out'. Like… I want to be round, c'mon." She chuckles softly, and shakes her head. "Anyway. For having one of the smallest armies out there, in World War One the Germans got so scared of the Canadians they started trying to immitate them, and the British were left wondering how a buncha lumberjacks could ever do so well. …I never would've thought, honestly."
She glances up towards the kitchen, and hmmms, "Next time, I'll just tell him to keep it simple."
"I don't know.. maybe he was trying to impress you. Get you inspired in his poll." Miles responds playfully. "I mean, father figure or something like that." Not suggesting he was trying to flirt with her. "I don't have any complaints about the roundness bit." That may have been a slip, and he hides it beneath a sip of his water as he considers what she said about the Canadians. "Is this what we're getting at is 'they were Lumberjacks, and they're okay?'."
Yes, that was a Monty Python reference from a black kid from Brooklyn. Go figure. "I don't know. You murdering the skins was pretty neat, but I like a beat I can do something other than bang my head to and nod like a bobblehead." There's a glance towards the kitchen. "I'm starting to think we may have to find someplace else for lunch.
Gwen stops the drumming video on her phone (it loops) and switches to a different one; something much slower paced, but still full of energy and rhythm. The kind of thing you might hear at an AC DC concert, possibly. "I can drum pretty much anything you like," she replies with a grin. "I didn't actually intend a pun with the lumberjacks thing — which I will warn you, is rare for me — the British actually did suggest that the Canadians were tough because they were all lumberjacks." She shrugs her shoulders lightly. "Go figure."
She winks, "…And yes, I'm a girl, I like being 'rouded' as well, don't worry." Yeah, she caught that one.
Gwen sighs at the kitchen. "Or I might just have to put off lunch until after I write my exams. …Nah, I know where I can grab a couple corndogs on the way. Sorry Hod, I'll have to have the creative burger next time."
There's a hint of darkening in his cheeks as Miles considers. "Corndogs sounds good, I should get back to campus as well." he agrees as he takes out one of the fives and drops it on the counter, tapping it twice with his fingers to give an alert it's there. "I know you didn't intend the pun. I carried it there." comes the response as he hops off the stool. "But I shouldn't keep you from class or your exams."
A swift smile is offered to the blonde. "Maybe I'll see you someplace besides the policeman's ball soon, huh." he offers to her before he is preparing to leave himself.