Scenario Entitled: The Upper Class InvasionCharacters:
Marayla DiMeglio, a rich widow from the far south.
Melissa, serveuse at the Factory.
Walter, half-baked Channel One anchorman, looking to get caffienated.
Location: The Java Factory, a cozy, popular coffee shop in the NW Sector
Date: Marron 23rd, 109 P.A.
Dawn looks up from what she's doing and smiles as Walter walks into the cafe.
With a polite smile, Marayla abruptly joins the conversation, turning her full attention to it. "I've heard wonderful things about the coffee here," she murmurs. It really is amazing, the warmth and cordiality that she's now directing towards Melissa. "Have you been here long yourself?" If her driver is paying any attention to this, there's no sign of it. He just sits in his seat across the room and drinks his coffee, stoic.
Melissa brightens, finally a conversation to help me wake up! She shrugs, non-committally, "Only about a month." She looks up as Walter enters the cafe, smiling broadly, "We serve the best coffee in all of Tolkeen." She says both proudly and loudly, as if using it as an excuse to advertise. Shame it is only being heard by people who already know the Java Factory's reputation. Maybe subliminal conditioning?? "I don't plan to stay here." her voice returning to normal level, "But for now, it pays the bills and keeps me off the streets." She lashes a mocking grin at the olive skinned lady at the counter. Suddenly, she extends a hand toward the mid-thirties lady at the counter, "Melissa. By the way."
There isn't exactly a way that everyone's favorite reporter can enter a room without making some sort of flashy entrance, is there? He isn't even smiling, or frowning, or shouting, or whistling at women, or even trotting about doing his trademarked: 'reporter walk'. Shouldn't he be trying to do something like that, rather than slinking in to the Java Factory with his shoulders all slunched and his hair slightly disarrayed? What gives? Has he been taken over by body-snatchers? Is some sort of solar storm interfering with his master's control? Or is it just high time that Mr. Reily took a vacation from the doldrums of 'talking head-dom?'
"Marayla DiMeglio," is offered in return to Melissa. A delicate hand stretches out to return the shake, grip held for a few moments before she pulls free. For those in the know of such things, it's /just/ the right amount of time for shaking the hand of the 'help'. Marayla smiles, "A pleasure to meet you, miss. What is it that you plan on doing in the future, one wonders?"
Melissa shrugs again. "I would like to run my own shop one day, but that's going to cost alot of money to set up." She smiles, and then adds, "Excuse me, one moment." She turns her attention to the reporter, raising an eyebrow, either in confusion, shock or disgust. Maybe all three. "Coffee?" she enquires slightly sacastically, moving to get a mug.
Marayla DiMeglio falls silent when Melissa moves off to take care of another customer. In fact, she turns her gaze to the customer in question, studying Walter for a moment over the rim of her own mug. It takes a little while, but eventually she nods to herself, placing the form and face.
Maybe some coffee will change his mood a bit. Although, isn't there something in the Tolkeen statutes against serving caffeine to the walking dead? Although, considering some of the students and other night-lifer type people that visit places like this, the help must have violated it long ago. With a dismissive wave, Walter raises his hand an inch or so and then mutters, "Yeah, sure. Sugar, Cream, Catfish" Did he just order catfish in his coffee?
Melissa grins in suprise at the added 'catfish', whatever one of those is, and assumes it was some kind of joke that she did not understand. "Comming up." she calls brightly, and begins to prepare the coffee, minus catfish. Without looking up, she speaks, directing her question to Marayla, "And what, may I ask, do you do?"
Marayla DiMeglio allows a hint of surprised amusement to color her voice. "Do? Why nothing, actually. I spend some time with charities, but not much more than that usually."
Melissa nods to Marayla with a smile. "Charity? Oh, good for you." She places a coffee on the counter for the reporter. She turns back to Marayla, "What kind of charities? Childrens?" she asks, quite excited.
It's a good thing too that Catfish isn't a regular ingredient in coffee. Walter must have thrown that in to test something, yeah that's it. He wanted to see whether or not he was in the 'Termination Zone' like that Blaze Kinkaid movie from a couple of years back. Catfish must be a regular ingredient there. Walter of course takes his coffee and snuggles up to the counter with it like a good little customer. Where's the alliteration, where's the witty repartee? Where's the hidden camera? Where's that hunk of a cameraman?
Marayla DiMeglio's gaze flickers over to Walter. She watches him while she answers Melissa, "Not specifically children, though I'm sure I've donated to those at some time or another." There's a pause in the conversation before she murmurs, "Hello, Mr. Reily. It's been some time since we spoke last... I hope you're doing well?"
Melissa nods at Marayla's response, and turns her attention to Walter, listening for his response. Again, she takes up the cloth and a plate and begins to polish it.
Huh? What? On air in ten? Charity? Gala Events? Children? Smile damnit! Muscles, contract. Teeth, separate, tongue loll. Wait. Tongue, don't do anything. Walter takes his first sip of coffee, setting it down on the counter before answering, "Hello Ms. Dimeglio." Liver, begin metabolizing coffee product. "It's been a while, yes. What, two weeks? That auction, if I remember right?"
"You don't remember me from the Bermenham affair, the evening after the auction?" Marayla arches a slender, plucked brow, affecting a hurt expression. "Why Mr. Reily, I really do believe I might have to cry, especially after everything you said to me." That's dismissed with a smile, her quiet voice rich with amusement when she comments, "It looks like you enjoyed yourself last night."
Melissa watches the trade of words, idly wiping the same plate repeatedly. Her ace contorts slightly as she tries to stiffle another yawn. These early morning starts are a pig. She glances up at the clock on the wall; 10:45. Nearly time for her morning break. She places the plate back into the rack and proceeds to make a very strong black coffee.
"Oh, yes. Wonderful evening. It started off with my favorite activity, the semi-monthly review. Followed by the ever fascinating expenditures report, all topped of with a nice dinner of paperwork smothered in a light red-tape sauce. The Bermenham affair." Walter nods deeply, although from the way he looks he has absolutely no recollection of the evening. How typical. "You'll have to excuse me, I had one too many glasses of punch that evening." Yeah, followed by a half gallon of champagne, and topped off with half a platter of shrimp, fresh from Catfish land. Sarcasm off! Cup, lift. Throat, swallow...
Just when you thought Marayla couldn't look anymore amused... Walter speaks. "I'll have to share your opinion of the evening with Ms. Bermenham when I see her next week." She sounds like she just got handed a plate full of chocolate-cake on a birthday, her words tinged with rich laughter. "I'm sure she'll be absolutely delighted to hear it."
Melissa finishes her coffee and makes her way from behind the counter. She moves across the room and takes a chair at on of the tables near the window. Melissa sits down at circular table in front of the right window.
Great, another outraged Channel One sponsor. There goes the funding for the Newsvan's paint job, followed by a three hour speech from BC about 'Why it's bad idea to piss off the contributors.' Maybe a preemptive social call is in order? Walter almost shivers at the thought. Just because Ms. Bermenham happens to be rich, doesn't exactly make her a feast to look upon. Walter takes another sip of coffee, before answering. "Tell Ms. Bermenham that I said hello, would you? And that I'll pay for that stain on her rug..." Quick Walter, think. Maybe you could club her over the head with your barstool and run away? No.. they're bolted to the floor...
Marayla DiMeglio brings a hand up, a finger tapping her lips slowly before she murmurs, "I certainly will give her your regards. You're sure about the rug? I remember seeing it there when we first arrived..." She shakes her head, tone all disdain, "She really ought to speak to her cleaners about that sort of thing. I wouldn't have anything like that lying around right before guests arrived if I were her, not with those excuses for decoration she calls prints on her walls." Ahhh, the meal of the rich-and-idle: rumor-milling and gossip.
Melissa sips at her coffee, gazing out of the window at the life passing on the streets. Her chair is adjusted in such a way that she can over hear the conversation taking place at the counter. She grins slightly at the babble and chit-chat the two are making.
Babble? Chit-Chat? An understatement. What's happening here is an all out battle of wits, and Walter happens to have holes in his armor, a lame leg, and a runny nose. Words are being used like tactical weapons- quick, precise, and deadly accurate. This is Jhartha's arena to be sure. Walter's just a water-boy given a reed, thrown into a uniform and tossed out onto the field for the wolves to feed... Oooh! Coffee's finished! Time to escape!
When Walter starts looking like a trapped rat, Marayla lets up on him. Never let it be said she isn't kind to retreating opponents. He gets a gracious smile and a gentle, "I do hope we have a chance to chat again sometime, Mr. Reily. It's always a pleasure." She glances over her shoulder across the room, remarking, "Do you have somewhere to be? Jose can drop you off, since I'm not done with my coffee yet." At the sound of his name, the stoic guy sitting over thataway looks up from his slowly diminishing cup o' joe.
Flee! From the way Walter fidgets in his chair, he acts like Marayla's grown horns, a tail, and has a six inch wart on the end of her nose. Still, a ride IS better than trying to get a taxi to stop in this neighborhood. Walter takes a look at the driver briefly and straightens up. Must keep appearances up, even during a strategic retreat such as this. With a step, our reporter places both feet squarely on the cracked linoleum floor of the coffeehouse. "Thank you, Ms. Dimeglio, it would be a pleasure." He says with his tail between his legs.
Jose rises up and strides towards the door. Marayla speaks as he does so, "He'll bring the car around, it will only be a moment." In her victory, she can afford largesse, 'twould seem. And indeed, Jose is soon to be seen through the window in the driver's seat of a cherry-red all- too-expensive sports-auto, hovering in place patiently.
Melissa watches the car pull up outside over the rim of her coffee cup. She sips and then places the cup back on the table.
The steam-pressure overload valve on TW espresso maker suddenly spurts to life with a rattling sizzle sounding faintly like a drum roll. Dududududud... Walter comes close to jumping at the unexpected noise, but then recomposes himself, smoothing his special reporter-issue khakis with the palms of his hands. Appearances are always important, as one famous individual once said, 'Tis chilly, I think I shall wear an extra shirt, so as to not shiver when the time comes..." or something like that anyway...
Marayla DiMeglio watches Walter scurry away, that amused smile still firmly on her lips. She's probably doing a jig - on the inside.
Melissa stands from the table and heads back toward the counter, mug in hand. She smiles at Walter and Marayla as she passes, resuming her duties.
Ahead march! Where's the priest? Where's the governor? Where's the blindfold? Where's the last request?! This is a travesty of justice! Walter steps dutifully through the front doors of the Java Factory and stops at the car door to peer back inside. 'When I place my hands foreword like this, you will know the time is right...' With only the briefest of pauses, Walter then turns his glance back to the inside of the car before he opens the door and steps inside it's lush interior..
Melissa watches the departing Walter with interest. What a strange man. She shakes her head slowly, grinning to herself.
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