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Post by megan on May 22, 2011 1:27:26 GMT -5
Afternoon is turning into evening, which means that business is slow in Mae's Cafe but its owner is making sure that everything is in order for the evening hours. The number of customers generally rises during the later hours - this part of Gotham has a surplus of night owls - though they don't tend come in all at once like they do during the lunch rush. Instead it's usually a more steady stream, and Margaret likes that much better because it means less rushing about for her.
The few customers currently in the cafe are contentedly sipping their coffee, eating their food, reading the paper, or staring off into space so Margaret is using the quiet moment move some chairs and tables that had been shifted to accommodate a larger group back where they belong, and wipe up a small spill on one of them with a rag. After doing this job for over twenty years, she can do these tasks quickly, efficiently, and with nearly no thought at all.
Instead she quietly mulls over some of the gossip she's picked up today, though tales of who murdered who and who's going to get revenge when has nearly become nearly as routine as everything else. Headliner of the day: the Joker's causing trouble - but what else is new? Since it's extremely rare for any of it to end up affecting her, the only real reason she has to think about it is to avoid thinking about anything else.
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Post by atomicwinter on May 22, 2011 6:09:08 GMT -5
Noah walked into the café, a newspaper slung under his arm, a look of pride on his face. He walked over to the counter, dinging the little bell more times then needed. Putting one arm on the counter, he glared up at the lady.
"I need a hot chocolate and a everything bag." Neanderthal he thought to himself. We need to be more educated! Atleast a highschool degree and community college! Then I could tell all these games I have in my mind to other intellectuals.
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Post by megan on May 22, 2011 10:49:55 GMT -5
When it comes to Margaret, dinging the little bell to summon her even once is more than what's necessary unless she's doing something in the back and is less alert than usual. It's also highly ineffective at encouraging her to hurry any faster than is normal for her. Fortunately, 'normal' for her is fast enough; she only finishes wiping the table she's working on, something that takes mere moments, before she steps behind the counter.
It only takes her a glance to get a good read of the man. Intellectuals aren't her normal type of customer, except of course for that man with a habit for wearing green - though he's been a bit scarce lately. In fact the exact opposite is probably more accurate, especially as the hours get later and the customers are more likely to be the hired thugs of local criminals, low-level members of the mafia, and the like; they all appreciate being able to go somewhere where they can speak freely without worrying about the owner of the place talking about what she might overhear - instead they just have to worry about the other customers. But she literally gets all kinds so she doesn't pay this man much mind.
Instead she focuses on his order, not that it requires all that much focus. "Alright - that'll be $4.55," she says as she turns to prepare the hot chocolate, figuring out the cost in her head almost instantly without consulting the register. She may not be the best educated woman in the world, but she does know money.
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Post by atomicwinter on May 22, 2011 15:27:47 GMT -5
"You need to be alert lady. I had to ding ten times to get your attention." He was exaggerating of course, but he had had a particularity bad day. He was in the worst mood, and that showed. He probably would complain about the food. Infact, he will complain about the food. I asked for a hot chocolate with chocolate milk in it and a cheese bagel! That sounded good.
Taking a five dollar bill out, he put it on the counter. Man this place would be easy to rob. Stick Luscra over the counter, demand all the money. Or he could just use his suit, sitting dusty in a safe in Gotham Bank.
That was what he regretted the most. All the people he killed. Not the most... He regretted who he didn't kill the most. A world without Superman, or Batman... Would be so much easier. His intel would be way more reliable.
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Post by megan on May 22, 2011 18:20:01 GMT -5
The complaint might as well have not been made, as Margaret doesn't even bat an eyelash to it. Either he has one of those really sour personalities or he's in a bad mood, and either way she knows that her attentiveness isn't really the issue. And if he really does think that she's not paying enough attention then he won't come back and she'll say good riddance. So she simply can't bring herself to care enough to react.
Instead she simply fills a cup with hot chocolate - the best in Gotham if she does say so herself, especially for what she charges for it - and places it on the counter, followed quickly by an everything bagel wrapped in a napkin. In nearly the same motion, she scoops up the five dollar bill, types on the register for a moment, and hands over the receipt and change. "If you want cream cheese for your bagel, it's over there with the other condiments," she says with a vague gesture toward the other end of the counter. She's of the opinion that her bagels can stand on their own feet without it, but opinions vary on that.
One would think that a small place like this in such a bad part of town with such a mild-mannered owner would get robbed all the time, but while Margaret herself wouldn't put up a fight the vast majority of her customers are both armed and like her enough to have a problem with someone taking her money. That's a better security system than most owners of such humble establishments could hope for, right there.
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Post by atomicwinter on May 23, 2011 7:10:29 GMT -5
Noah took the bagel and drink from the girls hands, looking at the money. "So, how is this gonna work? I have my hands full and you pass me that stuff! Jesus. At least give me a bag!" He said, half yelled, at the woman behind the counter. He set the drink down, taking the receipt and money and showing them in his khaki's pocket. He took the drink and turned to walk away.
He then muttered a work not printable. Let's say that a queen bee was very itchy. The woman at the counter could of clearly heard it, and most of the customers could of as well.
Morons. He thought vagely as he walked to his table.
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Last Edit: May 23, 2011 9:44:37 GMT -5 by megan
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Post by megan on May 23, 2011 9:44:22 GMT -5
Once again, the man's angry complaint seemingly goes unnoticed by Margaret, who simply waits for him to juggle what he's holding until he's taken his change before she picks up the rag again so that she can continue to wipe tables. There was a reason she put the hot chocolate and the bagel on the counter instead of handing them directly to him, but she doesn't bother to point that out - if the man wants to mistake his inability to think ahead on her, let him.
However, while Margaret is willing to let the man's behavior slide, apparently not everyone in the cafe is of the same opinion because one of the other customers suddenly stands. A very big one: the man has several inches and at least twice the weight of Noah, and he puts all of it between him and the table he's headed for.
"Maggie's a nice woman," the man states, glowering down at Noah, "You gonna say you're sorry, or are we gonna take dis outside?" Despite the customer coming to her defense, Margaret doesn't spare the confrontation so much as a glance - which is telling on it's own because if she didn't approve of it she could easily tell the man to leave Noah be and he would.
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Post by atomicwinter on May 23, 2011 10:02:41 GMT -5
"BetchyaIcanrunfasterthenyou." Noah said, dropping the bagel and throwing the still-hot-hot-chocolate at the larger mans face. Crap. No sooner then that was said Noah 'booked' it out of the cafe. Or, at least, tried to. He was almost certain he was going to have to use his pocket calculator, but, only when that was absolutely necessary. He would almost certainly bring a vigilante or two knocking on his door.
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Post by megan on May 23, 2011 10:36:10 GMT -5
The big man only grunts in annoyance at the hot chocolate on his face; but it does effectively blind and distract him, and Noah is quite correct that he's faster. Margaret sighs in resignation to the situation as she comes around the counter, grabbing a handful of napkins to offer her defender as she makes a mental note that she's going to need to mop the floor when this is over. She hates it when anything like this happens in her cafe - usually it doesn't.
Unfortunately for Noah, the cafe is not lacking in people willing to take issue with him at this point - the large man he threw the hot chocolate at was merely the closest. Before he can make it to the door, he'd feel a hand catch him by the arm as he went past another table. The owner of the hand isn't nearly as impressive as the first guy to confront him, but to judge by the strength of his grip he's the smaller, more skilled version of the same sort of thug.
"Now you owe Larry an apology too," the man says as he rises from his seat, grip tightening to the point of it being painful. Seeing this, Margaret's eyes go wide and she backs away from Larry after he takes the napkins from her and starts wiping his head off with them. Now the situation is probably past the point where her interference would help - it's one thing to tell a man not to try to defend her, and it's quite another to tell him to ignore someone who has splashed a hot drink in his face.
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Post by atomicwinter on May 23, 2011 16:51:24 GMT -5
Noah gave a nervous look around the room. He took a small mathematical calculator out of his pocket (Yes, it was in a pocket protector), hitting a few buttons.
"So how many of there are you in here.." He said for a moment. A fist of yellow energy popped out of the calculators LCD screen, sending a wild hay maker at the man. After that motion was done, it swung around as if a leashed dog looking for a new victim.
`Yeah, come on, come at me you fools.`Noah yelled, grinning. He started to stroll out of the café, the calculator still out and his yellow energy fist still looking for somone else.
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Post by megan on May 23, 2011 17:37:43 GMT -5
The fist of energy connects solidly to the side of the head of the man holding Noah's arm, and his grip releases as he falls to the floor - not unconscious, but dazed enough to not get back up immediately. Larry, having managed to wipe the hot chocolate from his eyes with the napkins Margaret gave him, gapes at the energy fist but stays put.
Aside from a very frightened looking young woman near the corner, there are two other customers near the front, and they can be heard muttering to each other about whether or not they'd be successful if they rushed him, but nothing comes of it; they may be self-proclaimed 'tough guys', but without their bosses around to fire them for not trying reckless attacks they have the good sense to leave the man who can fight using nothing more than a calculator alone - at least as long as he just wants out of there.
"Please leave, sir," Margaret says quietly, though the words are clearly heard in the tense silence that follows Noah's challenge. She's retreated behind the counter, which could hopefully provide some protection for her should things get worse - and she's very well aware that it's possible for things to escalate much further than even this if her request isn't granted.
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Post by atomicwinter on May 24, 2011 17:45:16 GMT -5
Noah grinned, mad with power. He hadn't done this in a long time. A very very long time. He glared at the lady behind the counter. He turned to walk away, but instead of opening the door himself his smashed through it. Make the shopkeeper pay for... For whatever. He glared back at the patrons of the shop, before turning and corner and walking away.
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Post by megan on May 24, 2011 18:24:57 GMT -5
It shouldn't come as much of a surprise that Margaret seems completely unaffected by the man's glare, and she simply watches him dispassionately until he turns to leave. When the door gets smashed, however, she does noticeably flinch, though it's difficult to tell whether it's because she's startled by the sound of breaking glass or guessing at how much it'll cost to repair - it'll have to come out of her retirement savings.
Sighing in resignation at the situation when the man goes out of sight, she quietly collects a broom and dustpan so that she can clean up the glass before anyone steps on it. Meanwhile, the silence in the cafe is disturbed by her customers talking to each other. She pretends not to listen, as usual, but she overhears Larry saying something about coming by more often and with friends so that she'll be able to make up for the cost since he started it, and a few quiet murmurings about who might know who that man was and who else might be interested in hearing about this little incident.
Margaret herself has none of these thoughts - in fact she's almost inclined to tell them to let it be, but instead she keeps her mouth shut like she's always done. Some would find it heartwarming that her customers are so quick to come to her aid and offer their help, but Margaret sees it all as an exercise in futility; stuff like this has always happened to her and will continue happening whether they punish this particular guy or not.
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