2019-11-26 - Afternoon Coffee

Ignacio is parked in the window at a table with his laptop out, leg propped up on a chair with an icepack on his knee, and typing away on his laptop while the sky grows super grey and hunkers down with fallen leaves and thick gray clouds instead of just going and getting a damn sweater. Overhead there is absolutely no Christmas music playing which might be why people are taking refuge in here...or they really love coffee and scones. On the table there's a donation jar and a small pack of post-its and a pen. The jar invites: Ask your questions here.

The jingle on the speaker threaten s to switch to Mariah Carey talking about all she wants for Christmas...again... again. The Spaniard squints, "Do not make me hate you, Radio..." It switches to a commercial though and abandons the threat of pre-mature holiday elation. "Okay then... I'm watching you."

The lack of Christmas music is definitely a bonus. Inexplicably, however, Gina's all dressed for Christmas cheer! Beneath the rips in her black jeans one can see snowflake-patterned black leggings, and she wears a slouchy Christmas sweater bearing a red-mouthed, hoofed Krampus with a child in its bag, bordered by rows of reindeer skulls (including one with a red nose at the bottom there). She's ordered her coffee and a few sweets, and drops herself into the seat at a table near Ignacio, pulling out her own laptop from a bag and lifting the screen. Siiip. A glance over at Ignacio, her attention caught by the knee-- but then there's the jar as well, and her brows rise. Danish in hand, she rises to look over the post-its and pens and the setup, before she casually reaches into the jar to pull out a question to read. Rude much?

Ignacio drinks his coffee and a smaaaaall grin forms. Hand extends in a swatswatswat "Hey now, like the Goonies that's someone else's private stuff. Wait til it's published i the paper before god and country... you know being all respectful of their privacy." Oh the irony might be deliberate. He might not be serious though. Then again he might be. The hand is offered over, "Ignacio. Yooooou are the lady with the diner out on Oak yeah?" Eyes fall to the laptop and back up. "I mean for real no one signs anything. I dunno what's on them yet. So long as they make it back in the jar, or don't disparage the Mets we good."

Gina shifts her hand away before Ignacio can actually swat it, raising a single brow at him as if HE is the one interrupting her personal space RUDELY. The privacy comment just gets a smirk, which doesn't fade when she sees the hand. Instead she looks from the hand to her danish - so sad, can't shake, food in hand-- before she uses her perfectly free hand to go for the jar again, unfolding a slip with one hand as she leans against the table. "Spruce. Grizzly. Yeah." Bite of danish, eyeroll as she tosses the note back into the jar. "Ignacio, huh?" A pause, as she digs through her memory-- "New Dear Abby guy?"

Ignacio points to the danish. Important shit. He goes back to his typing and dips his head in a nod. Taking a deep breath as if it snuck up on him and lo, here they all are replies, "Yeah. The guy not qualified to give advice, and yet, is paid to. You wouldn't think that as a by-line would fly and yet..." Looking to Gina the nod comes, "How the hell you wind up in the diner biz? You grow up with it too? Family thing?" There's a too? apparently there is an also to be had here. His eye flinches slightly as he adjusts in his seat. Authors, man. Fuckin nosy bunch.

Another message is plucked from the jar and read, it bringing forth a small snort as she tosses it back in the jar, "If someone's writing into a paper for advice, they aren't looking for qualifications. Just validation." She casually dismisses all those poor, needy souls, before she has another bite of her danish and pushes away from the table, to go sit back at her spot. She's still close enough to talk, however - he could probably stretch out and grab her chair easily. "Wasn't really a family business. It was on sale a few months, I was looking to move back into town, and then my mom died and I got all her insurance money." Casually spoken, as if each thing is of equal unimportance, "So I bought the place, cleared out some of the bears," Good lord what was it even like before, "Fixed some shit and took over. Better than working for somebody else."

Ignacio arches an eyebrow nodding slowly and offers to Gina, "Well it's cheaper than a therapist and if they don't like the feedback they can set the paper on fire soooo there's that. Harder to do without repercussions to a shrink." He listens though and doesn't seem inclined to rush into her business but offers, "That sounds like a shitty time to deal with all the way around. Moving alone is a pain in the ass. The rest? Complicated." Recognition over pity. It's a lot to consider, as is his peppermint mocha, "Grew up with a restaurant. Thought about going back into the biz. Ain't easy but ya know, it's rewarding and your neighborhood drama play can come to you so there's that at least." He pauses, full stop, at bears. The question crawls up into his expression pushing one eyebrow up trying to figure out if he's going to ask. No, he's hanging instead o that last thought. Huh. Well that gave his brain something to chew on. "Where you move back from?"

Gina just shrugs-- she's not super expressive, is she? "Kept me busy." All that time is rolled into the phrase, as she collects her coffee and has a sip. It'd take someone observant to notice the slight unturn to her lip as she drinks, thinking about the past-- but soon enough she's looking back towards Ignacio at the talk of having owned a restaurant. "Did you cook?" Does Gina look slightly more interested now? Maybe. "What kind of restaurant?"

As for the question above where she moved back from, a little handwave, "California. My dad retired there."

Ignacio watches with casual curiosity. It's interesting, but that's someone's way personal business and it gets regarded as such at least. The diner? That puts some energy into him, "Oh, yeah I do. Grew up doing it. My, um, papi's a damn good cook. Came here with near nothin and worked his way up from busboy to line cook to head cook and had his own place I grew up in back in New York. Was supposed to be opening a restaurant with him next year but..." He takes a deep breath setting his jaw regrettably, "Things. Like they do. But yeah, I love cooking. Was , um, diner style not too different than yours. Smaller." The lopsided grin comes, easy, "It's New York sized. but Spanish menu. California sounds cool though. I never did get to go there. How's it um, ya know, how's it been for you being back?"

Gina turns to look at Ignacio more fully, her coffee mug held in both hands, elbows propped on the table. Her eyes are, as usual, meticulously done up in a black and gold ombre smokey eye, dark and hard to read. "It's home." She says simply, before she-- smiles. It's not a cheerful sort of smile. "The place I'll probably die in. Roots and all. I've learned how to ignore the quiet, whispering kind of places." Her eyes move away from Ignacio, towards the window, with a slight uptilt of her chin, "Weather's better, too. I always liked storms and rain. California just had forest fires and droughts."

Ignacio watches, bemused and holds up his free hand, "Hey, some people like moody. Weather's pretty damn inspiring I'll give you all that." His eyes hold on hers and that grin too sharp and the macabre message. A slow nod forms and while some is a bit close to home he looks at the bonus out of that, "Well, ya know, not a lot of people our have have a retirement plan in place. To that I say... what quiet whispering places?" Yeah that is the curiosity that grabs. "Like the carousel actin up or the lawn getting finicky or things being haunted and interfering with the cable kinda whispering?" he's willing to humor anything, but look at what sometimes gets sent in. once can't decide what's normal for people.

Gina sips her coffee, and doesn't look too bothered by Ignacio's curiosity. The smile just increases, just a bit. "It's a local thing. You've already got it or you don't. She reaches for her danish, eating the last few bites of the treat while she turns on her computer, focusing on something or the other there while she sips her coffee. "You've got it pretty deep. If you haven't found it yet, you will soon enough, Ignacio." She pronounces it the Spanish way, even.

Ignacio sighs and tells her with some admission, "Lo tengo." Taking a slow breath he chuckles ruefully, words distant as he considers the page in front of him and someone asking about being trapped in alternate reality. His thumb taps on the space bar without striking it. "Juuuust because we've seen the sides doesn't mean the bottom's not still a ways out there." Gina gets another side glance, "But who else is gonna deal with it? We have us." And it's the residents permanent, temporary, or historic that are made to inherit it, and who ca really say why.

A low chuckle escapes Gina as she shakes her head, her attention on her screen. She doesn't respond right away, instead typing up a quick message before she shuts her laptop and returns it to her bag. "Not from around here." She reaffirms, as if she herself was born and raised here - it's easy enough to find out she wasn't, but she's still a local, raised and traumatized like a good Harborian. "Quiet's not something you can deal with. You just make enough noise and sing so it goes away for a while. Good luck with the needy fucks of the town." Gina gets up out of her seat, collecting her cup - it's a to-go one! and salutes Ignacio with it. She's already on her way out.