Muffins With a View?
Roleplaying Log: Muffins With a View?
IC Details

Amelie meets Drake in a nice little cafe. We learn that Drake has a weakness for accents, Amelie is a classy dame, and only one of them can flirt with finesse.

Other Characters Referenced:
IC Date: May 07, 2019
IC Location: New York City Cafe
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 09 May 2019 04:07
Rating & Warnings:
Scene Soundtrack: [* ]
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

* * *

The problem with a gun-battle and assassination in a triad base in front of a costumed superhero? They tended to be disapproving. Of course, it hadn't exactly gone how Amelie had planned it, but at least it was successful. The money had even been paid…and now she had to wait a little while, let the heat cool and someone else be a little more brazen.

Resting in the seating at the back of the little NYC cafe she'd found, Amelie was lazily sipping at her coffee and snacking on a small muffin. A little celebration of sorts for the French woman who'd currently traded her figure-hugging catsuit and high-powered weaponry for a far more normal jeans and blue halter top that showed the barest hint of midriff. It was a good thing she didn't scar when she healed up, or there'd probably still be marks where that stray round had hit her belly. Damn if it hadn't hurt though!

* * *

What Drake wouldn't give for supernatural regeneration. Alas, this particular youth is allergic to damage; he breaks out in wounds. On the plus side, he hasn't had many of those lately. Training doesn't often result in lasting damage beyond very sore muscles and, in one instance, an overnight in medical from essentially performing a stress test on his electrokinetic powers. That sure was fun. Woof.

Well, lighting up the entire Danger Room like one big tesla coil was pretty rad.


All that matters at present is that the teen looks no different from any other confident, upbeat young college student, with perhaps the exception of his sleek physique. But that could be explained away for an obsession with martial arts, basketball, or track. The oversized muffin flecked in chocolate chips, however, might argue the point. He makes his way towards the corner of the cafe, coincidentally near the female. He takes a seat at a table, feeling himself at first to be out of the way, Then with a sidelong glance of vibrant emerald eyes, he spots her.

Oh, she's pretty. She looks classy, too. Like she properly belongs in a cafe of this sort. Don't get him wrong, he's wearing what passes for his nicest clothes out of his extremely minimal wardrobe - a breezy, pearl-white button-up worn as an overshirt with slacker-chic undone sleeves, a conforming black tanktop, matching slacks, and shoes. But she somehow strikes him as having the proper 'air' about her. Him? He comes from a hoodrat background. It dies hard.

Still, he raises the muffin in playful salute towards her, accompanied with an innocuous grin.

* * *

Amelie herself looked a little older than the student, though only just. Of course, looks could be extremely decieving, but then most people don't quite have the same nature as 'Le Bien Qui Fait Mort'. A small sip of her drink taken, that muffin-wielding gesture of greeting does earn a little chuckle from the woman. Her own eyes? For the moment they were mostly covered by simple slim frames and slightly darkened lenses. It probably added to the whole 'classy art type' vide, but more importantly it left her eyes looking that little bit more normal at a glance.

"They are not bad, non?" she speaks, accent plain and obvious to her words but doing nothing to spoil that siren-esqe voice. "A perfect indulgence to go with a coffee, or at least the best one is likely to find around here anyway." Conversation struck it seems!

* * *

Drake Riley is pleased enough that his muffin-gesture is met with a chuckle. Laughter is usually what he's shooting for, and if not that? He'll settle for just making someone happy by a small modicum. Her 'advanced' age, as it were, scarcely seems to register for him. She's pleasant; that's plenty.

Then she had to go and speak.

Vivid green eyes widen at the clear accent, and his own smile brightens. Truth be told, he's kind of a sucker for exotic accents. And a French accent, so clear and distinct, is beyond appealing. It's enough to force a manual reboot of his brain, leaving him staring and smiling at her like a veritable loon. Processing! A couple stunned blinks later, he's shaking his head to clear the haze with a self-conscious chuckle and rouging of his cheeks.

"Ah, right! Yeah. Sorry. Just, aheh, wasn't expecting that. And this is the first time I've been in here, actually. And that's a really, uh, pretty accent."

* * *

"It was the first time for me as well," she shrugs lightly before grinning. "I was simply walking by and it smelt delicious. I thought I might spoil myself a little." His blushing and that chuckle? If it's noticed it's not off-putting apparently. The praise of her accent earns a little wave of her hand to the compliment before she turns her gaze back to his own. "I suppose it does stick out a little more here, non?" she questions before shrugging again. "And you?" she questions, "Is yours a 'muffin of opportunity?'"

* * *

"Oh, me? No, I'm American-," Drake starts dumbly before realizing what she meant. He cuts himself off abruptly, winces, and offers a more apologetic, self-aware smile. "You meant the muffin." He clears his throat. "Yeah. Muffin of opportunity. I've been good enough on the workouts and training. Why not reset all my progress, right?" The smile adjusts with a more playful note.

"Since I already gushed a little, may as well ask. Where are you from?"

* * *

"I meant the muffin," she nods, that grin remaining on her features as she takes a little bite of her own snack. She actually takes the time to chew and swallow the mouthful before speaking again. "I would say," she muses, "that there is no use in strengthening the body if you neglect your soul. Why be completely miserable, regardless of how many muscles you might have? One has to look after themselves in all ways." A sip of her drink to make her point, she tilts her head. "You are an athlete then? Football? Or at least your version of it?"

* * *

"That's a great way of looking at it," agrees the Cali' guy. Of course he'd ascribe to the ideas of whole wellness rather than strictly physical. Though he does have to admit to himself that he feels fantastic being in the best shape of his life. A necessity, for what he does, but still.

"Kind'a like MMA enthusiast? With a dash of just wanting to look good? I'm not on t.v. or anything, so I'll have to figure out some other way to impress you," he jokes. "And, hey, don't be talkin' smack about hand-egg. Get'cha killed in some places."

* * *

"An MMA enthusiast?" she repeats, tilting her head to oneside and then chuckling softly. "There is nothing wrong with a little personal vanity anyway," she shrugs once more grinning at his little jest before folding her hands in front of her. "And many more for if you were to talk crap of 'Real football' elsewhere." A grin, she downs the last of her coffee and then sets the mug aside before giving a little chuckle. "Amelie," she offers in introduction, "impressed or otherwise."

* * *

With a more relaxed, sunny smile, the student says, "Drake. Shooting more for the former than latter."

He pauses to take a tentative nibble off the muffin. It's an exacting amount - easily managed, should he need to respond to something, and small enough that it won't result in a lengthy lull in conversation if she's the quiet type. Alas, he himself is not so much that type, and in short order, he's back at it.

"What brings you to the colonies, Amelie?," he asks, giving her name a test-drive.

* * *

"Work mostly," she offers, giving a little chuckle. "I travel all over, but now there's a call for more work this side of the world." The French woman shrugs once more, looking back at Drake. "It is 'consultation and mediation work' mostly, managing the transferance or removal of certain assets, helping certain types of people deal with their greivences."

She looks towards the door, eyes sweeping behind her glasses to take in far more of the room than most could percieve before she looks back to Drake. "What about you Drake? What might a 'local' such as yourself fill his time with? At least as far as employment."

* * *

"Sounds like funeral work," comments Drake. Liquidating assets, helping with grief and mediation? It's very odd, and he'd have to wonder what exactly the job title would be. So he takes a guess at it: "Like… arbitration?" Not something he'd have known beans about, prior to coming to New York City.

Another nibble is taken from the muffin, hiding a coquettish grin. He knows how this might sound, and that's part of the fun; seeing where her mind might go. But she's French. There may be no unseemly connotations for her in what he's about to say.

"I'm a pool boy." Beat. "You know, a guy who cleans and maintains rich people's pools." Like the one in the Xavier Institute. "I don't know if I count as a local, though. I'm from the West Coast. Dunno if that means anything to you, but I used to live in Los Angeles, California. So I've been trying to reconnect a bit with my 'roots'. Find beaches around here that aren't terrible, y'know?"

* * *

"A pool boy?" Amelie repeats before giving a nod. "Ah, like the employees at the hotel." She trails off, seeming to consider if her words might have been insulting. His own assessment of her work? It earns a little shrug of her shoulders. "That is probably another word for it," she speaks in accented tones. "It can certainly seem like life and death." There's a slight shift, it might even have been a giggle at some internal joke…and yet she'd seemingly missed his own little insinuation with his occupation. Maybe it didn't translate well?

"California hmm? Did you move out to strike out in Hollywood and decide it wasn't all it's cracked up to be?" that tease returns to her accented tones.

* * *

Drake Riley crinkles his nose and shakes his head. "I've been to Hollywood a few times. It's an area of L.A., y'know. And it's just too… I dunno." He waffles with a one-handed shrug, "Fluffy? Does that make sense? Like if anyone should ever get a hair out of place, they need a crew of fifteen stylists to make it right again."

He nibbles on the oversized muffin again with a grin. "Besides," he begins, mouth only modestly full, "could you imagine me in a movie?"

Swallowing, Drake continues on, "Nah, I came out here from the West to get away from a bad situation. To kind'a… like… find myself? Where I belong?" He shakes his head again, scattering those rakish bangs. "That probably sounds lame. But I'm happier here. Mostly."

* * *

"Finding yourself and where you belong?" the woman repeats with a little laugh and shakes her head. "Not as 'lame' as you might think. But then, I'm sure such a thing is a bit of a stereotype back where I call home." His assessment of Hollywood has her amused, but she doesn't really comment on it. She'd visited it once quite a few years ago, but that had been for 'work' with only some limited sight seeing.

"Perhaps it is good to be drowning your sorrows in sweets and drinks," she muses with a wink. "It is better than cigarettes and booze in alternative."

* * *

Drake Riley shakes his head. "Nono, don't get me wrong," he counters. "I've got nothing to be sad about. And really, I'm /way/ better off now than I was then." Nevertheless, he takes another nibble off the muffin; her fault for making him think about it. Chew, chew, swallow. "I'm a pretty happy guy. And today's not bad, either. Got a huge muffin," he bobs it indicatively, "met a nice girl with an accent that just… isn't even /fair/," he flashes her a playful smile before continuing, "and I have a roof over my head tonight. And a job, can't forget that."

He nibbles on the muffin retrospectively, letting his gaze drift from her for a moment. Once he swallows, he adds, "Just wish I could find a decent beach or something, though."

The eyes return to her, his smile warming again. "No booze or smokes for me. I know it's kind of the 'in' thing in L.A., but I never got into it." He tips his head towards her. "What about you? What do you like to do?"

* * *

Another little wave, perhaps there was a flush to her cheeks at the talk of her accent before she's given the getaway of the talk to her own habbits and hobbies. "I like quite a few things," she admits, folding her hands. "I've always had a perchant for music and dance, although I grew up with ballet rather than the clubs of this place, but well…one has to try new things, non?"

Tracing a finger lazily over the handle of her coffee mug, she continues with a little smile. "Other than that? I'm being decidedly typical, enjoying what fine food I can at times, then lounging by the pool of my hotel with a glass of wine."

* * *

"Ballet, huh?," Drake asks as he leans back in his chair. "I could've guessed that. You seem… the sort?" After a moment, he quickly appends, as if afraid he might've offended, "Classy, I mean. Refined. Y'know?" He winces internally and tries to recollect himself. Mis-steps!

"I'm into music. My music's a little dated though, probably. Nineties stuff. Probably nothing you're really into," he hedges. "Sugar Ray? Not the boxer, I mean the surfer-style dude. I like his guitar licks. And some stuff even older than that. So I dunno how much of a club kid I'd be."

Not that he's technically old enough to get into clubs. But she doesn't need to know that!

A wry smile edges his lips at last, and he perks an eyebrow at her. The pretty Frenchgirl, lounging by a pool with a glass of wine. "You really know how to paint a picture," he offers, his tone a little on the musingly flirtatious side. "And not a bad one, I'll say."

* * *

She laughs, a soft giggle before shaking her head in a way that makes her hair bob a little from the motion. "Not at all. It's actually entirely accurate. I was learning Ballet since I was a little girl, dreamed of becoming a famous dancer but…" she gives a motion of her hand that was clearly some approximation of a shrug. "Life happens, non?"

His music however? It earns a little smile and a shake of her head, the woman leaning forwards and resting her elbows on the tabletop. "I might suprise you. There's a place in my heart for music that's a little 'old fashioned' these days."

If only one knew!

His flirtation? She simply flutters her eyelashes in a look of faux-innocence that is entirely too perfect to not be practiced flirtation of its own. "Well, I am meant to be artistic. It is a matter of national pride after all…"

* * *

The eyelashes flutter. Is she flirting? Is he reading into it? Oh crap, what's the protocol here? Drake's eyes widen as he attempts to navigate the confusing and perplexing world of understanding women. There are no Sacagaweas, no Magellans. This is untamed territory. No man's land. Literally.

He swallows heavily, and the muffin in-hand is temporarily forgotten. As is most everything else right now.

"Well, ah.. maybe I'll.. get a chance to see that picture sometime, then," he replies, trying to keep the tentativeness out of his voice.

* * *

"Perhaps," she offers back, apparently blind to or amused with the apparent brain-melting of her dining companion. "Who knows?" She trails off, looking towards the counter and then back to the man. "I am in town for a while longer, I could certainly use a guide to show me around the city if you were free to do so."

Another little 'shrug' gesture of her hand, she smiles. "If you had the time anyway."

* * *

"Well, ah.. when something seems worth it, you make the time, right?," Drake suggests. He's still trying to process what's happening. Did he just get a muffin and a kind of date from a French girl? Is this reality?

With nearly a startle, he sets the muffin down on his table and fishes out his phone from a pocket. "I'm gonna need a way to get ahold of you, though, aren't I? And hands seem a little too forward just yet..," he jokes, and immediately regrets it. Sure, because that doesn't make him sound gropey at all, does it?


* * *

That -was- a terrible joke, one that actually earns a quirk of her eyebrow before she reaches into her back pocket and retrieves a pen. Ever prepared the Assassin was! Scribbling away on her napkin, she pushes it lightly towards him with a shrug of her shoulders. "I went through the trouble of getting a phone for this country, I should get some use out of it."

Several bills are fished from her pocket, neatly folded and even arranged in value. Seems she was a detail dedicated sort of woman! Tip left, she looks to Drake with a tilt of her head. "I do have to be heading back, but this has been quite pleasent Drake. What is coffee without good conversation to go with it?"

* * *

The napkin is pushed a bit towards him, and Drake deftly takes it up in one hand while his thumb dances across the touchscreen of his smartphone. He had no idea how 'Amelie' was spelled! Once done, he turns in his chair to continue facing her, smiling broadly. He got a number!

"You got coffee with conversation. I got a muffin with a view." He offers up a lopsided grin, which soon breaks with a sheepish chuckle. "Dorky one-liners aside, yeah. It was nice meeting you. And," he lofts the napkin, "I'll be calling ya soon."

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