2023.03.04 An Assload of Witches Brew

03.04.23 An Assload of Witches Brew
Trey meets Lyric, and then Dasia and Trishna show up, and then it’s an assload of crass until Dierdre pops in.
IC Date	03.03.23
Players	Dasia, Deirdre, Lyric, Trey, Trishna
Location	The Witches Brew
Spheres	Changeling Bastet Bygone

Witches Brew and Occult Shoppe - Main Room

When entering the shop, the door will chime from an old-fashioned little bell set above it. First to assault the senses are the scents within the shop, there are heavy herbal smells along with delicious scents of baked goods. Describing the shop itself, it can be considered broken out into two sections. A front section that is the entirety of the front of the shop houses the cafe portion, and a back section that is split in half with one half devoted to tall bookshelves and a wide-variety of books, while the other half is devoted to a huge herbal and apothecary section that includes needed supplies for the practicing pagan. Separating the front and back sections of the shop is a long, rectangular glass counter for specialty items and checkout. It has a narrow space to enter and exit in order to serve customers and check people out from the cash register that is at this counter. There is a sign that states, 'If you can not find the book you are looking for, please enter your request in the special order book.'

The front of the store has nooks built against the front windows that are comfortable window seats with piles of cushions for the customers to sit and read, chat or snack comfortably. There are also plush, comfortable seats that have high cushioned arms arranged in cozy triangles around little tables for people to relax and chat. Just to the left beyond the cafe seating is a long glass counter that is displaying a plethora of baked goods, all very interesting and all very delicious. Behind the counter is a barrista that can also offer a multitude of drinks, from coffee, to tea, to water or any non-alcoholic drink. All drinks are delivered in unique cups, no two cups are alike, and they are all porcelein.

In the far back of the room, behind the bookshelves and shelves of merchandise are two doors that are always closed. One door has a sign on it that says 'Employees Only', the other door says, 'Private'. At the front of the store, there is a set of double-glass doors on the right hand side that lead into an expansive greenhouse, although the glass windows are often misty due to the moisture of the greenhouse beyond.

PLACES/+views/+notes available - +note/read here/PEACEFUL_AURA

NOTE: There are several cameras pointing at the entry door, the cafe and specialty counters. Also - if you do anything in this shop that would be noticable, or Mia or any other workers that work here are involved/impacted, please @mail Anyu.

FAE - This is one of those rare and beautiful spaces where the line between the realm and the Dreaming feels... oddly paper thin. It's mostly seen in the places where the light through the windows carries an extra sparkle - a filtered radiance that usually only exists in storybooks, now. Occasionally, when browsing the wares, it will appear as though there are more books on a shelf than it could possibly physically support - books on things that no mortal shop would have. Curses, Arts, Arcadia, The Seelie Code of Chivalry, A Treatise on the Fall of Balor, the Noble Houses - A History... these are the sorts of things that squeeze themselves into every gap and nook and cranny - or make their own room where they must. Chimerical cats and bats and ravens have also taken up residence - sometimes dozing in little patches of sunlight or hanging from shaowy corners or perched atop a bit of dusty statuary looking down on the world below. Even the spiders are wonderous, here - tiny creatures that look as though they have been carved from crystal and precious gems, sparkling in that radiant sunlight. This is, without a doubt, a /paradise/ as far as sluagh are concerned... but catching sight of the crawlers is never an easy endeavor.

Obvious Exits:

Lyric comes from the back room. The door bangs open a little harder than he intended it to and he just stops, looking more annoyed as a couple of seconds pass. He takes a deep, very slow breath and lets it out with a quiet whoosh and slowly makes his way up to the bar. He takes a sort of winding path up toward the bar, avoiding too much contact with people.

Trey has devoured, neatly but efficiently, a tiny Cthulhu pie, and has just finished his coffee. His seat at the window allows him a lot of views, but he's currently absorbed in the paper. He's finished the sudoku, but is working on the crossword with some effort. The ones on the weekend are always harder, and his pop culture knowledge is... spotty at best. He hrms, looks up, and takes a long, slightly-open-mouthed breath, savoring the scent, and turns toward the bar with a curious expression. One dark brow quirks up, and he rises, taking the empty cup toward the bar for a refill, allowing hismelf to be seen, and sniffed, if so desired.

The one person at the bar aside from the Barista shuffles a little to the side as Lyric comes up. He places himself all the way down at the opposite end, but the girl over there eating her pastry and sipping her tea sort of loses her appetite and pushes her plate away. Lyric doesn't seem to care. "Mia, I'm hungry," he informs the barista. His voice is smooth like slightly melted butter, accent clearly Middle Eastern, but carefully enunciated so that it has a sort of British-educated lilt to it.

Trey has less of an impact as he approaches, most likely, but the poor girl at the bar looks like she wants no part of any of this and moves to an empty table. Trey winces for a moment, then shrugs. It is what it is. "Hello, Mia," he says when his turn comes up, "A refill on the breakfast blend, please?" He's polite. It's another cat's territory, after all. He turns to look at Lyric with a quizzical air and an expression that suggests he's in the know, and curious. Well, the curious part sort of goes with the territory, but more so than usual. "May I ask where you're from originally? That accent seems familiar."

Mia doesn't ask Lyric what he wants. She leans down into the case and picks some of the less delicious looking treats. They still look delicious and they're FINE, but maybe there's a smudge of filling or one part that's ever so slightly darker than the rest. Superficial problems. This is set down on the bar top in front of Lyric - a whole heaping plate of imperfectly perfect pastries - and a bottle of water. As Trey comes closer and the poor girl over there retreats, Lyric turns to look the man over, his head tilting just a little toward one side. "Iran," he tells him. "Formerly known as Persia." Yes, the pretty Bastet is a persian. Don't think the humor is lost on him.

Mia also gets Trey what he wants

Trey watches this, and wonders why the girl risks angering him, but then, she probably knows what she can get away with -- or just has no idea why Lyric sets her off. A lot of pondering passes through that second or two, and then Trey puts it aside, back to the moment. "I probably would have gotten that eventually, but not on the first guess, or second," he admits, taking his coffee from the barista and exchanging it for the exact change, tossing some extra in the tip jar. "You're the owner here, yes? I wind up here a lot. For the coffee as much as the books."

Lyric doesn't seem to have an objection to the things put down before him. It might even make sense - Lyric doesn't have to be impressed. He knows the quality, he knows the standard and he owns the place. He doesn't need his food to look perfect. "Thank you, Mia," he says and breaks off a piece of his Cthulu pie and dips it briefly into his tea. "You're a regular? Good. I apologize for not recognizing you. I've been out of town." He motions to Mia as she's making Trey's new drink and she nods. Looks like they communicate pretty well without having to say much of anything. She sets Trey's drink down. "On the house." She hitches a thumb Lyric's way to indicate it's on him. "I took the place over as a favor to Anyu when she wasn't able to tend it anymore."

Trey ohs and smiles, accepting the drink. "Thank you," he says with a simple acceptance. "I don't know Anyu, I'm a recent arrival. Only moved to Prospect a few weeks ago, but so far, it's a place worth staying a while." He flashes an easy smile and then takes a sip of his coffee, black as night, no sugar. "You get a really interesting clientele here, too. A broad slice of the populace."

Lyric seems to be in a pretty good mood, but he also looks like he might be ready to rip someone's head off if they look at him right. Clearly wound up tight. But the conversation comes easily enough. "Anyu was the one who built this place. She lived here and worked her. I think she got burned out. She tried to come back a while ago, but it didn't work. I like this place. The food is good, the Barista is exceptional, and I think the clientele, in all its unique sort of quirkiness, makes the place incredible.,"

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Trey nods eagerly at that, agreeing. "It's easy to get burned out having to deal with people a lot." Trey seems pretty easygoing, all things considered, but that undercurrent of 'rawr' is there, as well -- albeit in a much less potent form. "Especially when they decide to be unreasonable. but yeah, a good place is always something to be cherished." He leans absently against the bar, sipping once more, considering his words. "Do you have a book buyer or do you source them yourself?"

Lyric gives the guy a quick look over and wonders if his circle of Rawr around him is any larger than it was again. Belatedly, he remembers the woman packing up and moving away from them, but AFTER Trey came up. He motions to Mia. "That's probably more a question for Mia. I can tell you that we do very much encourage local authors and local suppliers. Some of this stuff, the more fluffier bullshit, you could find at any big chain book shop. But some stuff is chosen more carefully. For the details, though, Mia would be the one to talk to about that. Accounting isn't my strongest suit."

"Okay, I'll do so. Because the more esoteric stuff is what I tend to look for. It's an interest." Trey offers a slightly toothy grin, just enough to show him as a bit predatory, not enough to be a challenge. The breeding the other man shows is a dead giveaway to Trey, because you don't often see a cat that purebred outside of... well, the Middle East, or certain remote parts of the Americas or Africa. "I ignore the fluffy bullshit, like you say. Real students of the topics don't need the latest crap on your chakra-astro-color-alignment of planets through simple water-sage cleansing or whatever."

Lyric nods. He lifts his tea to sip it, and looks down at his food. He picks up one and bites off the imperfection and chews it while he listen. "The fluffy bullshit is what brings in most of our customers. Mia and the deeper things keep them coming back."

Trey listens, considering his coffee, and then looks up to Lyric with a thoughtful air. The man is half-a-foot-taller, after all. "Sorry, rude of me, I'm called Trey," he says, offering a hand in greeting. There's a hopeful air about it, much as he'd prefer not to show it. "Well, Steven Trevelyan, but nobody calls me that."

Lyric looks at the hand. He HATES touching people. HATES it. But even still, he extends that hand and he shakes. The shake is brief, but strong, but not TOO strong. Lyric isn't that much of an asshole.

Lyric and Trey are sitting at the bar, either holding hands or shaking them.

The hesitance is clear, and Trey doesn't prolong the shake, his grip firm but comfortable, and brief. He opens his mouth in one of those 'should I say it or not?' expressions, and instead takes a swallow of his coffee. Apparently, he's decided not to make it awkward. Or rather, *more* awkward.

Trishna enters, just another customer, eyeing the placing over from the entrance almost skeptically before entering in full. They head to the counter and place and order. Black coffee, which is produced quickly, one of the advantages of simple taste. Clutching the drink in two hands Trish seeks a place to sit, settling nearish Trey and Lyric, giving the two a blatant sideye as if summing them up for trouble.

Probably a good idea. Awkwardness is.. well, it's awkward. Lyric picks up his tea to have a sip and breaks off another piece of one of his many desserts he has stacked on his plate. "Mm. Lyric Osman. My apologies." Handshakes throw him off a little. Lyric glances over at Trishna and dips his head politely. One must at least pretend to be civilized and he's good at faking it.

Trishna is near you. Near enough to see, at the very least. Trishna is objectively beautiful (appearance 5). Trishna seems, despite their beauty, to be quite unapproachable (Charisma 1). Maybe its the eyes. Dark brown, almost black, that don't seem to quite reflect the light like they should in those brief glimpses. Or the hair, an inky silky black in loose curls that bob and sway, sometimes seeming to flutter in the breeze despite the lack there of. Trishna is not threatening. Trishna is small. Hardly five feet. Thin and painfully pale. They are clothed, surely, and it is almost certainly in black.

Trey is standing at the counter with his coffee and has apparently been talking to Lyric, just having shaken the man's hand. He's holding a cup of black coffee in his hand now that the handshake is done. "No apology needed," he demurs with ease, letting the awkwardness flow away like water on an incline. Trey scoots aside at the counter to make room for Trishna, pausing to look at her with curiosity. Her side-eye is greeted with a flash of toothy smile. It comes off a little more 'kinda creepy' than 'easygoing and friendly,' but he's at least made the attempt to look affable.

The little bell rings as Dasia pushes the door open in that self-centered way of hers. Perfectly manicured fingers kind of bent back and spread out a little, lest the French-tipped... almost claw-like nails come too close to touching each other, or whatever. Over her... left elbow, a sizable designer bag hangs, and her right hand reaches up to remove the big ol' sunglasses from her face, which she folds and slips into the handbag. Today, she's in Prada... a green, shape-hugging short-sleeved shirt, with a black, belted midi-skirt, and black, freshly polished loafers with a modest heel. The most out of place thing on her is the bracelet on her left wrist, but she makes it work.

She looks around the little shop, spotting a few folks that she recognizes amongst the other patrons here... there... not *everywhere*, but it do be public. She heads in the most important of directions - directly to Mia. "You still have the white hot-chocolate, yes?" Conveniently, everyone is right near the counter!

Yes, it is important to act civilized. Trishna is not quite as good at is as Lyric. As one of them nods and the other smiles she replies with a narrow of her eyes and a low grumbling sound followed by an almost reluctant. "Hello...Gentlemen.." A soft hnnning sound, a contemplative noise as she takes deep sips of the still seemingly scalding hot coffee without any notice.

When Dasia gets to the counter to order its her that gets the over-the-cup stare. Unblinking.

Let's not be insulting, Trishna. Lyric is no gentleman. Goodness gracious. Lyric nods though, politely. He's very pretty, in case that wasn't noted before. It's important. Lyric just looks like he might calmly reach out and bite someone's arm off and then go back to his tea. THAT isn't creepy at ALL. When Dasia places her order, his brows knit slightly and he looks over at Mia, briefly distracted from the current conversation. "We have white hot chocolate?" Blink.

Trey offers a smile to Dasia, and says, "Hello, again!" He doesn't seem to mind the unblinking stare that Trish fixes on Dasia, nor the calm menace of Lyric. He just seems like the nice guy who suddenly turns out to be a hatchet murderer or something. Still and all, he *does* try to be friendly. "It's Dasia, yes? From the art school?"

If such things are worth noting, by most standards, Trishna is quite beautiful as well. Despite the fact that they seem like they might explode like a landmine if you tapped them on the shoulder. "It persist to be." Trishan states. Who is she even talking to? Or about? It isn't really clear. The coffee is finished by the cup is still clutched.

Mia stares at Lyric for a moment, then blows an exasperated breath upward to push her bangs out of her face and then she turns to go make a couple of white hot chocolates for Dasia and Lyric - and anyone else who wants one too, of course. "Dasia... that's a pretty name." Also, Lyric is absolutely prettier than Trishna. He's also very humble. Just ask him and he'll tell you

It's lucky the boys stopped holding hands by the time Dasia got over there, or she might have teased them about it. So mean. She is NOT unblinking, and even flutters her eyelashes when Lyric seems surprised. "Did you take it off the menu? They managed to make it the other night. With extra syrup and whipped cream and everything." It sounds like a diabetic nightmare, but then, there are many people who go that hard with the sweets that frequent the shop. Probably. There are, right? She glances to Trey and nods. "I babysit some of the classes there every now and then," she says, the corners of her lips curling up in a little smile, as she tips her head towards Trish. "There might even be people there that she can win an argument over stealing their shoes, or whatever."

Trey is the least pretty person in this scene. He's fine with that. Really. Not at all miffed about being the resident uggo. "Babysit," he says with amusement at Dasia's quip. "I'm going to assume you don't have a bunch of toddlers at the University, unless there's a lot more prodigies around here than I knew. In which case, we may want to see what's in the water." Another sip of his coffee follows; he lets his gaze naturally move among the prettier people, liking the sight on a purely aesthetic level. "That sounds like a lot of sugar, though... I think I would be a ball of hyperactivity if I drank that."

Trish just makes a clicking tch sound, eyes rolling. "They GIVE us their shoes. We do not need to steal. We are not a theif." with that Trish is up and heading out the door.

Dasia's pretty-ness is only amplified by how flawlessly she wears that Prada. Funny how fancy clothes work that way. Pay no attention to awareness rolls or anything. "No, just clueless freshmen that show up for a pass/fail credit that's based, like... 90% on attendance," she replies, pursing her lips in annoyance at that. Pass/Fail and 90% are a contradiction that she does not even address. She shakes her head at the mention of sugar, though. "Carbs are carbs, you just have to teach your body to burn them the same way it burns... pasta. Or alcohol." Except that's not how that works. That's not how any of that works! Right? It certainly doesn't SOUND like it makes any sort of sense, at all!

Trey ahhs at the concept of clueless freshman, and shrugs. "I don't get why people sign up to learn things and then act as if it's a chore." Okay, he's definitely not a college student, it seems. "But carbs are fine, but I'm more a proteins kind of guy. Not much for alcohol. It just makes me feel stupid and walk awkwardly." Yup, *definitely* not a college student.

Seems legit, actually. Lyric can eat all KINDS of things and it all seems to just melt away. He sips his hot chocolate and there's something that is almost but not quite a purr that escapes him. Regardless of the fact that it is lava-hot, he drinks it way too fast, making the face, even making the slightly slurpy sound of someone who knows they done fucked up and Mia drops a glass of water there on the bartop for him. He picks it up and drinks most of it and ... hot chocolate moustache. Somehow, it's flattering. It might be ridiculous, but it's still flattering

"Two words," Dasia replies to Trey, about why people sign up for these things. "Capitalism." A pause. "Oh, and Assholes." She takes the extra sugar-y beverage and grabs one of those little coffee straws to stir it some, to mix the whipped cream and extra syrup drizzle down into the milky liquid. "Feeling stupid and walking funny are just for beginners. Keep drinking after that part, it should get better." Such sage wisdom! Would she lie to Trey? She lifts the beverage, positioning the straw just so with her perfectly manicured fingers, for BARE MINIMUM CONTACT between the straw and her lips while she siiiiiips the overly-sweet drink.

Trey ahs. "Well, the asshole part makes sense," he agrees, watching between the two who are devouring white-chocolate concoctions sweet enough to make his teeth hurt. It's enough to make a fella crave a steak. He chases the words with a swallow from his black-no-sugar coffee, savoring the bitterness and body of the deep dark beverage. "I don't particularly like feeling foolish or walking funny, though, so it seems like I'm unlikely to get past that barrier to entry. Besides, cannabis candy is there, why drink?"

Lyric wipes that moustache away and Mia points at her own nose and Lyric gets THAT too. She knows him so well. He turns back to the conversation, picking apart another piece of a pastry. "I don't think I've ever drank for the purpose of getting drunk. But drinking is seen differently overseas. I guess I never quite understood the appeal. Gummies, on the other hand... as long as you don't eat them ALL and end up throwing up in a bathroom for three hours, are more my speed."

"Drinking is faster and tastier, and you can do cool things like set them on fire without making it taste like charcoal or whatever," Dasia replies. "And you get the whole 'everyone is dumb together' fun." She shakes her head. "There's a whole genre of movies about this, go watch them all or something." She leans onto the counter and nods at Lyric. "Riyadh is a dry city, so I like to think of it as making up for lost time," she says. "Getting drunk is just a nice side effect, is all." Someone has never had a hangover, it seems.

Trey says, “See, to me, it's more fun to watch other people get drunk so you can mock them mercilessly, but that's just me." He flashes another of those toothy lightning-quick grins. "Yeah, I've seen a bunch of those movies, but... seriously, I cannot imagine drinking enough to think that it's a good idea to take a corpse on a weekend vacation." He shrugs again, swallowing the last of the coffee and putting the mug down. "Cannabis is just smooth and easy.”

Lyric nods. "It's weed that will make you want to take a corpse on a weekend vacation," Lyric agrees with a smirk. Mia eyeballs him. Can he just be predictable, please? It throws him off when he does things like smiling.

"Drinking makes it seem like a good idea if you need the corpse to gain access to wherever you're going... weed makes it seem like a good idea if you just want to show the corpse a good time," Dasia replies, to resolve that both will do it just fine. She siiiiips some more through the straw. "But that's what building a tolerance is for. You get the dumb-fun, but train your brain to mock people back just as quick as normal. It's like muscle-memory, but for your... brain muscle." Such quick thinking. "Do it enough, and you can think quicker while you're drunk than while you're sober."

Trey looks at Dasia and offers, "If your brain is muscle, you're doing it wrong," with a chuckle and another shrug. "At least, so I've been told. Your brain needs to be more wrinkly, not more muscular. The wrinkles hold all the knowledge." He seems pretty certain of that fact; maybe he's read some neurology textbooks. Or maybe, he's just weird. "Muscle memory works for when you're learning to do something like sew or draw though."

Lyric just shakes his head a little at the conversation. It's plenty amusing, at least. He slides his empty hot cocoa back to Mia and she takes it the next time she passes by. Lyric seems content to just listen to the conversation now, and does so openly.

Dasia narrows her eyes. Wrinkles. Her nemesis. "See, this is why people go to university in the first place. To learn life skills, like how to drink, and how wrinkles are bad, actually, and how carbs fuel your brain muscle." It's just science. "Your brain holds memories, muscles can hold memories... the brain is a muscle." Ipso, facto, lorum ipsum.

Trey boggles at the Very Idea. Then he says, "My brain is a delicate instrument of precise something or other," countering the argument. Sorta. "Precise calculations, that is. And it works well, even though I don't take it out for leg day at the gym." We're back to the 'maybe he's just weird' theory. "I'm still gonna vote against taking the dead guy for a vacation, though. I'm not very good at talking to dead people, because they tend not to answer me back. And if you can't talk, what are you gonna do all weekend?" Oh, Trey.

"And we have spent millenia perfecting booze to be a perfect, delicious fuel to help further calibrate that delicate instrument," Dasia says. "Cannibis grows right out of the ground." A pause. "Where the dirt is?" She blink-blinks. "Sounds like something you don't want to throw into a precision instrument or whatever, but do what you want, I'm not your mom." She siiiiiips some more, and even grabs a muffin before pulling out a card to pay for it all. Yes, it took her this long to pay for the drink, too. Shut up. "You don't need to talk to drink," Dasia explains. After a second to think, she adds, "Or fuck. But you should probably make sure they're not dead or sleeping... just that they're the quiet-type, before you try to cop a feel or anything."

Lyric chuckles as he listens, clearly invested in the conversation, but willing to be outside of it. Americans are weird. Even after all these years, he believes that. Small talk.

Trey chuckles softly. "And everything you eat comes from that selfsame dirt, whether directly or indirectly. So, dirt is a pretty good thing, in the end." He shrugs and adds, with another of those toothy little smiles, "But I'm not drinking. I like talking. As far as the rest, why would I want to fuck someone who's dead? That's revolting."

Dasia shoots a glare at Lyric for some unknown, 4th-wall-breaking reason. "I don't know why you would want to fuck someone who is dead, I'm not a psychic. Maybe they were a crush from high school, maybe they are a zombie that somehow didn't turn into a gross pile of rotting whatever, maybe reality is an illusion and you're a character in a YA or Romance novel with a dumb author obsessed with sparkles." She shakes her head. "Maybe you enjoy being revolted, I don't know, it's not my business, but I'm not going to kink shame." A pause. "Well. Not too much. Unless you'd be into that sort of thing."

Lyric just shakes his head, amused. He's just about finished with his plate of food and he pushes it toward Mia. He looks at her. She looks at him. She looks at his mostly empty plate, then at his drink. He shrugs. She takes both and puts the plate away and refills his tea. Psychic? No. Lyric is just predictable in what he wants. "Anything else for you guys?" she asks.

Trey says, “You know, I've wanted lots of things. Like fish n' chips. Or sometimes, chocolate. Once, nachos from the 7-11, but I think that was an anomaly because that cheese is terrifying and cannot be considered anything vaguely resembling dairy. But never in my life, ever, I can honestly say, have I contemplated wanting someone who is dead, or a zombie, or rotting, or..." He pauses, and then asks, seriously, "Why are we even talking about this? Can't we talk about something less disgusting, like... I don't know, what you like on your pizza or something?" Lyric's question makes him take a grateful pause. "Uh... a refill on the coffee, please.”

Dasia shakes her head at Mia. "Er... no, not unless you have a pizza back there good enough that I want to have sex with it. Since we're talking about pizza now, I guess." She stops. "No. Wait." She gives Trey a look. "You DID mean pizza toppings that are good enough I'd want to have sex with it, and not like... what toppings I find weird or disgusting?" She seems genuinely confused.

Trey blinks at the query. "No, I just meant, in general, what do you like on your pizza? Is having sex with food a thing now? Or has it always been a thing? I thought that joke from that movie about the apple pie was just supposed to be an absurdity, are you saying people actually enjoy that?" He wrinkles his nose. "Sounds unduly messy, to me." That makes two of them who are confused, now.

It's fortunate that Dasia was in the middle of setting her cup down so she could tear a little chunk off of the muffin, because she just kind of flails her arms in... not exasperation. But something! "I don't know why fucking your food is a thing," she says. Probably louder than that statement deserves. People are likely looking, bewildered. "'Do not stick penis in blender'... you would think that is obvious, but apparently somebody did it enough that a warning had to be written about it. 'Do not stick penis in food'... you would think that is obvious, buuuuut..." She leaves the rest of that thought unfinished. Because it's obvious where she's going with it.

Trey just... loses it. He leans in against the counter, and begins to laugh, helplessly and heartily. "I don't know why..." More laughter. "People stick their bits into their food!" Then he's lost in more peals of amusement, and it's anyone's guess why the lunatic is laughing so hard, but maybe it's because he's a lunatic. When Mia puts the coffee refill in front of him, he thanks her, somehow, amidst the chuckles. When he finally calms down to just chuckling, he looks at Dasia and says, "Well, if it's any comfort about the sanity of males around the world, I've never had the urge to stick mine in my food *or* my appliances."

Dasia shakes her head. If only 'cause manic laughter' were a valid Ravaging method. She'd be drowning in Glamour if it was! "I don't know WHY they do it, but I'm not going to yuck their yum. As long as I don't have to eat whatever is left over when they're finished with it." She picks up the now luke-warm chocolate, gives a quick swirl with the straw, and lifts it to her lips. "I mean, unless they're hot, but that's beside the point." Siiiiiiiiiiiip.

Trey tries hard not to laugh, really he does. Dasia is seriously making him a very amused kitty. "I agree with you on that..." A pause. "Well, except the last part. I didn't think people were serious when they said things like someone was so fine they'd drink a gallon of her bathwater, but you learn something every day." He pauses, and then accepts the coffee from Mia, taking a swallow. "I think you've seriously made my day more surreal and given me things to think about that I never wanted to think about."

"See, you just haven't met someone that hot yet, I guess," Dasia says. "Bathwater's nothing. I mean, you probably want to boil it, because dysentery isn't fun, but. Sure, you can drink it." Something something desert survival techniques! "And what do you mean, I gave you things to think about? You're the one who brought up getting drunk with a corpse and fucking a pizza, not me!" She seems flustered, getting blamed for something she is clearly innocent of!

Trey blusters at that. "I did no such thing! I admit to the drunk with a corpse part, but I am not the one who came up with the idea of--" He stops, and frowns, looking into his coffee mug in thought. "Oh, wait, that was me. Crap." He exhales a long breath. "I've met some pretty hot people, but I just don't... I don't know, I don't think of people that way, maybe. I'm just... not wired to think that way, I guess..." He hrms, taking another swallow, moving into pensive mode. "Well, in any case, it's a lot of stuff to ponder. Or not." Somebody has GOT to be filming this for TikTok somewhere in the shop, because nobody would believe it was real otherwise.

Dasia smirks, but just with the corners of her lips. Ever-vigilant against the wrinkles. "Don't worry, I'm sure one day you'll start thinking about girls, or maybe boys, or maybe both... People! Thinking about people in weird new ways, and you'll get hair in exciting places, and your voice might even get a bit lower, who knows!" She certainly doesn't.

Trey eyes her. "I didn't mean it *that* way. I assure you, I am fully mature in that sense. I just don't sexualize everyone." He doesn't really sexualize much of anyone, but that's beside the point. "I... okay, you don't wanna know where I get hair, okay?" He sounds really sincere about that.

Dasia shrugs, as though suddenly unconcerned about it all. "Or course you didn't... and you are," she teases, with a knowing wink. His secret is safe with her! "Nothing wrong with being ace or any other flavor of the spectrum, you do you. Just yeah, don't show me any of that hair unless you're fine with me going to town with the tweezers." She gives his eyebrows a narrow, almost threatening look.

Trey blinks. He has the feeling he's just been undercut somehow, but he's not really sure how. But hey, it's all good, right. "Ace... asexual? I'm not asexual so much as... not really interested until I find the right person, I guess. That's something different, I think." He shakes his head and promises, "I won't show you, and you don't need to break out the tweezers, I promise."

Dasia thinks for a moment, before giving another little shrug. "Demi, then? Like I said, I'm not here to yuck any yums, unless you want some yuck in it." She pauses, listening back to what she just said, trying to figure out if it actually makes sense or not. "I'm still going to keep teasing you and see if we can't get you to blush so hard that you pass out."

Trey mmms. "Sounds about right, then. I mean... everyone's fine to do what they want, just... yeah." He laughs as she says she's going to try to make him blush, noting, "I'm pretty shameless. I haven't blushed yet, you might notice."

"Of course you haven't blushed yet," Dasia replies. "You never got around to showing me where that weird hairgrowth is that 'you totally don't need plucked'... but you won't show me because you know that *I'll* be the judge of just what needs plucked."

Trey eyes her and offers, "Well, I mean, if you really *want* to look at my asshole, sure, but I don't think most of the people here would share your desire." He shrugs and takes another swallow of his coffee. He's gotta be wired by now, maybe that's his excuse. "And I'm not getting an Argentinian or whatever, or getting it bleached."

Dasia pouts a little. "It would be a lot faster to get it all done in one go, but sure, we can pluck each individual hair. But buy a girl dinner first, because I'm not sure I'll have the appetite after."

Trey just starts laughing again, shaking his head in helpless mirth. "I appreciate the sentiment, but..." More laughter. "I like you, you're unflappable. So far. But looking at your wardrobe, I'm pretty sure I can't afford to buy you the kind of dinner that would be appropriate."

"Oh, I'm flappable, the clothes just make it so nobody notices," Dasia replies. "And since you can't afford my services, I guess you're just going to have to rely on finding someone else to wax it for you." A pause. "Or some idiot whose willing to torment you with a pair of tweezers, I guess."

Trey says, "Or, and stay with me here... Or, I can just not do that and leave my ass untormented." He beams toothily, again. "I mean, what person is really going to *want* to do that? And more importantly, do I want to hang out with someone who says, 'Sure, I will happily pull all the hairs out of your ass one by one'?"

Dasia looks offended at the very thought. "Beauty takes suffering, to wring all the... the..." She waves a hand off in the air, pointing in the direction of one random patron over there. "All the normal bullshit out of you, or whatever." She shakes her head. "To just leave everything to stay normal is just... baffling." More head-shaking, and she's stirring the drink some more before she siiiiips. Seems like she needed a fresh hit of sugar after the insane worldview she was just presented with.

Trey tilts his head to one side and studies her unblinkingly -- not angry, just... studying. Or something. "Sometimes beauty just *is*," he says, with surprising seriousness. "A sunset or the ripple of the ocean tide. The warmth of the sunshine on your skin. The flavor of a ripe berry on your lips. Beauty can be made, but it can also just *be*." Is he saying his ass is naturally beautiful? Maybe.

"Ah, but it could look better," Dasia counters, a sad look on her face now that she's finished the hot chocolate. "Wax it, maybe some powder or some moisturizer. I don't know, google what a good ass-care routine is, I'm sure you can find someone out there who knows something."

Trey says, “Depends on the thing, but point taken. Still..." He studies her and says, thoughtfully, "Even without your work to your appearance, you would still be a beautiful woman. Objectively. I don't know how much work you *do* put in, but I think even in ratty jeans and a t-shirt, you would still be eye-catching.”

Dasia flutters her eyelashes. "If you're trying to figure out how to bribe me how to wax your ass for a not-very-expensive dinner, I could be convinced," she says. "We do need more models for the still life class, after all. I wasn't lying when I told Amber about that. So sure, Dinner and pose for some idiot freshmen who can only sort of draw. Get your ass-waxed and meet some other kids you might get along with."

Trey considers her for a moment, hrming. "Still life? So just sitting or standing for a long period in one position? Could be workable." He admits, "I actually don't need an ass waxing, at least, not in my opinion. But I'd do the posing thing if we're meeting other people. I like talking to new people."

"For the freshmen, yeah," Dasia says. "If you want to pose for Juniors, that's when they figure they've weeded out people who aren't serious about it, so then you get into the *nude* posing." She grins, cheeks dimpling even with the curled lips, but it stops short of her eyes, because of course it does. "So you might re-think that waxing, after all, if you're worried about some stranger ogling something and making fun of it." A pause. "Which I, of course, would never do." The dirty liar. But maybe believable?

Trey shrugs. "If they're going to have an issue with my body, they're paying attention to the wrong thing in any case. I'm not really shy. I don't claim to be the best-looking guy on the planet, but I'm okay to look at, so why be ashamed?" He considers it again. "I think I'm still passing on the waxing though. And you wouldn't? Mmm... why don't I believe you? But it's okay, you can mock me, I never take it all that seriously."

Deirdre makes her way in, bright and perky as ever. She's singing "A Pirate's Life" from The Little Mermaid to herself as she heads over to the barista. "Lemme get a caramel macchiato, doll. And if you were to write your phone number on the cup, I would certainly shoot you a text about meeting up." Deirdre smiles warmly to the barista. "Maybe I could show you my boat." The charm turned on, she's said her piece and then lets the girl work. No use in getting her in trouble with the boss.

Dasia and Trey are over by the counter, and Lyric is... uh. Somewhere! He's wandered off, but might slink back in at some point, who can say? "I mean, yeah, you don't *have* to wax your ass if you're going to end up doing the still-life stuff," she says. "It's good to give the students like... realistic bodies to try to draw or paint or whatever." A pause. "I just think you might regret having a picture of your hairy ass in someone's permanent portfolio that they submit to jobs to demonstrate their art skills, is all."

Trey sighs and notes, again, "I don't have a hairy ass! Honestly!" Well, not in this form, anyway. He laughs, though, and poor Mia behind the bar looks like she's been listening to this for hours. "But I do have a scar on my ankle from where I got bitten by a man-eating frisbee." He's kidding, probably. He also shifts to one side so as not to block Deirdre's view of or access to the bar, noting, "I smell fresh seafood," with a grin. "I love fish." Oh, wow, Trey, you sure know how to charm the ladies.

Her craving for a caramel macchiato satisfied, the captain saunters over to the table with Dasia and the man she doesn't know, but Deirdre is always happy to make new friends and meet new people. She's such a sea pupper at heart. Taking a sheet, she says to Trey, "After waxing your ass, you should get your asshole bleached," she says with a firm nod before taking a sip of her drink. She hums happily, contented with the drink. "Must be me, I just got back from a tuna run. Eight thousand pounds of tuna to the markets."

"See, that's what I've been trying to tell him, or at least trying to get across," Dasia says, glancing at Deirdre as she also starts to poke fun at Trey. "Beauty takes work... sometimes painful work, sometimes silly work, but work!" A pause. "Like bleaching his asshole. Get everything nice and clean and smooth just to feel nice and pretty."

Trey rolls his eyes and says, amused despite it all, "Why would I want an asshole paler than the rest of me?" Indeed, he's a nice warm sun-kissed shade all over, from the look of it. "Do you think it'll get me more opportunity in life if my brown ass is attached to a lily-white asshole?" He takes the other statement well to heart, though. "Oh, tuna is tasty. But I can't exactly fish it up myself." He groans and turns to a random person approaching the counter. "Is there some reason why people want to bleach their assholes?"

The phone beeps with a message. Deirdre looks down at it, tapping the screen. "Sorry, but I have to go. Have a good night, Dasia. And whomever you are." She heads out.

Dasia blink-blinks as Deirdre duck out super quick, despite all the warm and inviting butthold talk. Why ever for?!? She sighs, and shakes her head. "You stop the bleaching when it's the same color as the cheeks around it," she says, like it's something obvious that any middleschooler could tell you."

Trey ohs. "Well, I didn't know that. And... you know, I have no idea what color it is. Now I'm going to go home and look, because I have no damn idea. Is that what people do? Sit on mirrors with flashlights to check the exact RGB shade of their assholes?"

"If you're flexible enough, sure," Dasia says. "You could also just have someone take pictures of it for you." A pause. "Or take the pictures yourself. I guess." That last one she says like it's the dumb, boring option.

Trey says, "See, now I'm worried that if I did pose for you, you'd have me spread-eagling so your artists can draw the chocolate starfish in living color. Or paint, whichever."

Dasia arches a thin, microbladed brow. "They want more realistic poses for the class, but if you want to show off for people outside of the class, well... that's your prerogative," she says, giving a sweet little (emphasis little) smile.

The smol trademark smile makes Trey chuckle again, and then he says, "I think I'm going to head home, because we've come full circle at least three times, and now I want to get some fish n' chips..." He stops long enough to scrawl a number on a napkin and offer it over. "In case you want someone to pose at some point."

Dasia takes the napkin and holds it up, almost like she's giving Trey a 'cheers' motion with it. "Sure thing. I'm sure there will be a day that some model drops out at the last minute, so if you're strapped for cash and can get there quick, you might get a Shiney bonus, too." Cheeks dimpled, lips curled, eyes: shielded from the crows feet. "Take care."

Trey smiles. "And you as well." He drops into a bow with a flourish, which might seem mocking to some, but from his expression, isn't. "Farewell, until we meet again!" And then, he shoulders his knapsack, heading doorward.