Morning Sickness

Bean Scene Cafe

Bean Scene is a small coffee shop and cafe that caters primarily to a younger crowd. The cafe has always been at least a year late in joining any given fad, and in the past it's been done in western-style, set up as a beatnik hangout, a go-go disco, a fern bar, and once even attempted to cash in on breakdancing. A plaque has recently been placed above the door, and says, "No fad is dead until it appears to Bean Scene".
Case in point, the cafe has a grungy feel to it.A grey brick facade has been placed over the walls, the flooring looking more like a worn down metal grid, complete with old sewer grates every few feet. Tables and chairs set about the cafe are quite casual in appearance, made of metal meant to look rusty and splattered with multi-colored paints. Metal street signs hang from the wall amid images of garage bands. Behind the counter is a black chalkboard displaying the available items and costs.

You'd think Ivan would favor more fancy digs than this, considering his political position. Well, you'd think wrong. Everyday, according to tradition, he drops by the Bean Scene in the morning for 'the regular' and brief put pleasant idle chit-chat with the barristas. At the moment, the tall man is humming a tune to himself as he adds sugar and cream to his coffee, looking quite pleased and happy for the time being. Dressed in his snappy suit, it's clear to see that he's heading straight for work after this brief pitstop.

Someone is distracted this morning. Distracted, and juggling books, a backpack, a rolled up schematics sheet, and the newspaper. What has Hope so distracted is not the fact that she's got so many books with her this morning, it's the newspaper. She looks almost decidedly ill as she backs toward the counter, attempting to find an empty table to store her things before she places her order.

But there's that newspaper in her hand, and as she backs up, her gorge begins to rise at the very thought of it, and she makes a gagging noise. Stumbling backward, the newspaper goes flailing right at Ivan's head as her other articles crash to the floor.

Ivan isn't typically used to being assaulted by newspapers. Well, he's not used to being assaulted by anything, really. When he's struck, square in the back of the head, he lets out a rather boyish "Hey!" of protest before scowling and swirling around. But then the subsequent sight of the girl's belongings crashing onto the floor overrides the aggravated assault he's been put through. Surprisingly enough, it even overrides the fact that he knows the girl. He doesn't have time to recognize her before he lowers himself to his knees to try and help her collect her things.

Ivan does have some semblance of manners and chivalry and the like, though Hope refuses to believe so. "Oy, are you alright?"

Hope has never had issues with Ivan's manners, just his skeevy-pervness of dating her (at the time) mentally incapacitated sister. But her response isn't a quick 'oh, yes, fine, thank you'. It's a quiet, shock-induced, "Ohgawd," sob, and then a bolt to the bathroom. Poor Ivan is left there in the care of her things in her absence.

Several full minutes pass before Hope returns, a cool, wet paper towel pressing against her cheek. "Oh it's you." She doesn't even seem to have it in her to be huffy.

Ivan glances upwards when Hope makes a mad dash for it, and it's only once his eyes have fixed themselves on her retreating form that he recognizes her. After all, he's subject to a very similar back every day now. For a brief moment of pure irrationality, his mind jumps to the conclusion that it must be Faith. But then he recognizes how impossible that is. She wouldn't run away from him like that. And she doesn't wear quite so much pink.

He let's out a sigh as he proceeds to collect the remainder of the objects, knowing just who it must be in that case. And so, resigning himself for the very worst, he begins to set things up.

When she returns, her belongings will be piled in a neat, manageable stack at a nearby table. And, of course, Ivan is found sitting at the very same table, sipping from his coffee calmly. "Oh, it's me." He confirms with a nod of his head, looking to Hope with unadulterated curiosity. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me what's wrong, are you?"

"No," Hope says, starting to fiddle with her belongings. All just to make sure Ivan doesn't see the schematics. After all, they're for a class project, but she's in the midst of getting a patent for it. The damp cloth comes down to wipe at her mouth, then she digs in the backpack for a piece of gum. Popping it into her mouth, she chews it for a moment. A hand settles to her stomach, and she exhales slowly before seating herself at the table. "I suppose you want a thank you?"

Ivan seems almost surprised that she even bothers to sit down with him. For a moment, he entertains the brief, fleeting idea of possibly holding a civil conversation with this particular Tyler twin. And then he remembers that this is the real world, and in the real world such miracles barely happen. The way her hand hovers above her stomach is noted through clear, sharp eyes, as is a list of symptoms. "No." He echoes back to her, before allowing a wry smile to grace his features as he amends his words. "I certainly wouldn't turn down a thank you - especially not from you - but I'm not quite naive enough to expect one, Hope. Are you sick?"

"Thank you," she spits out, checking to see that all her things are in order. Hope chews the gum quietly, glancing around for the newspaper. There it is, on the floor, being trampled. "Well geeze louise! Bet it took all your genius to figure that one out, right? Generally, when a person bolts to the bathroom it's not because they want to make themselves pretty for their sister's boyfriends." It's about as civil as it's going to get. At least she's not screaming at him.

"Ah. There it is. Your special brand of…charm." Ivan almost looks bemused, and the wry way in which he pronounced 'charm' is thinly masked. "You know. You have quite a bit of hostility and aggression in you, for such a small girl. Perhaps you should take some sort of self-defense class to exercise your feelings out in a positive manner. Or at least look into some stress-reducing activities…" Ahem. What he wants to say is 'go get laid', but that probably wouldn't go down very well. "Anyway, you're very welcome. But what exactly is it? Some sort of…bug?"

"What it /is/, Mr. Fontane, is none of your business." Said as tactfully as Hope can manage at this point. "Though for your information, I do have a self-defense class, every Thursday night at the church." Even though it's mostly a class in what to do if approached by a vampire. "Now don't you need to run off and tell my sister I'm unwell or something? I figure by now she's got you as trained as a puppy."

"I thought you were telling Faith that I was untrainable? Promiscuous, and that I'd only end up hurting her. So which is it - am I her bitch or I'm a some cold-hearted player?" Ivan isn't even offended - rather, he's quite amused by Hope's accusations. "Then perhaps you ought to consider taking up yoga. Something relaxing. Because the self-defense as a defuser clearly isn't working. Anyway, no. I don't need to tell her anything, if you'd like. I'm good at keeping secrets. Did you throw up when you went to the little girl's room?"

"Ever see a bitch in heat, Ivan Fontane? Because that's what you are. You may be /her/ bitch for now, but you're like to go rut with whatever takes your fancy in the future." Despite the words, Hope's voice is actually amusingly calm. Likely because she's not feeling well. "I don't think I need anything to relax me, I can relax just fine on my own. I think you just don't like the fact that a /woman/ is telling you like it is." A frown, and she turns to face him. "Don't do me any favors, and for the last time, it's not any of your business."

"Huh. You know what, I've got to hand it to you. You wield the 'dog' analogy better then I've ever seen. It's almost awe-inspiring." Ivan begins with a mild smile on his face, pausing to take another sip from his coffee. "And, please. You know, I never really subscribed to Freudian psychology. I do not fear vaginas. My mother was overbearing at times, but our relationship was close. And I have two sisters who bless me almost daily, now. You are woman, I hear you roar - and I don't feel inadequate thanks to it. So, if you want to come up with a new theory, I'd love to hear it out." However, as she continues to press on, the smile on his face vanishes with frustration. Cue the liberal rolling of his eyes. "I'm not doing you any favors, Tyler. Jesus. Fine. I wont ask again."

Oh, Hope has many theories. Many which pertain to his less-than-healthy relationship with her sister, and many that pertain to him trying to control /her/ life by proxy. "It's awe-inspiring, because I'm a really great judge of character." Eat that one, Fontane. "And who said Freud had anything to do with it? While I will agree that I consider you to be highly egomaniacal, and Freud /did/ define the ego, the fact is I never once mentioned your mother - you did that all on your own." Pausing, she glares at him. "Good! Don't! You may think you run my sister's life, but let me tell you something, that in NO WAY means that you run mine."

Hope's ability to suck all of the good humor out of Ivan is incredible, really. One moment, he'll be sitting there in good humor, playing along with her hateful jibes. Then the next, he'll barely be able to contain that bile that is found in the back of his throat, or the sharp irritation that pangs his mind. "You are aware that his definition of the ego isn't applicable in the sense that you're implying it is, right? You're more delusional today they you even normally are. I dont' run anyone's life. I barely run my own. But, you know what. I deserve this. I was the ass who thought you'd be able to be a semi-decent human being for five minutes. But, congratulations. You've proved me wrong." And with that, he climbs to his feet, taking his coffee along with him.

"If you think that calling me stupid is going to increase your chances of me being civil, you're wrong." As he gets to his feet, Hope grabs her things and shoots him a look. "You know you're a real jerk, right? The sun doesn't rise and set on you, Ivan Fontane. Maybe, just maybe, I have things going on that I don't really want to share with you. Things that I don't want you rushing off to blab to my sister about. So if you will /excuse/ me, I need to be getting to the hospital." Pause. "You can keep the table, thank you for gathering my things." Minus the paper of course. And with that, she storms out of the Bean Scene, forgetting entirely what she went there for in the first place.

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