09 November 2014

Andy's Old Fashioned Donuts

A small quaint donut shop, tastefully done in blue and white. A glass case, 
showing a variety of fresh donuts stands at the back of the store. Standing 
behind the glass case, a small old woman, looking to be in her sixties, is 
busy with customers. A young girl, slightly taller than the old woman and 
looking to be around sixteen rushes back and forth through a swinging door, 
bringing out trays of donuts or coffee or other delicious smelling items.

A sturdy door to the south opens out onto the street.

Obvious exits:

Street

Currently in Saint Claire, it is partially cloudy. The temperature is 54 
degrees Fahrenheit (12 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in 
from the southwest at 14 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.89 and 
steady, and the relative humidity is 69 percent. The dewpoint is 44 degrees 
Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius.)

Early evening finds the donut shop reasonably attended with people of all 
ages and (except for the slumming college students) mostly low income. 
Ramos is hunched at a small table near the door, accompanied by a styrofoam 
cup of coffee and the litter of at least a dozen sugar and powdered creamer 
packets. He writes in a small unlined book with a black cover, face close 
to the 5 x 7 inch page as his pen scratches and scrawls in crooked, slanted 
lines that don't look particularly legible. None of the tables near him are 
occupied.

The rumble of a large, lifted, mid-80s Suburban 4x4 outside the donut shop 
announces Nick's arrival. Said individual climbs out of the vehicle and 
heads into the store, glancing around as he does so, spotting Ramos almost 
instantly, offering him a nod--and not a GTFO glare--and another nod to 
someone else in the room further off before heading to the counter to place 
an order. In the time it takes for him to get his order, there's probably 
ample time to slink out the door.

Ramos glances up furtively when Nick walks in. He doesn't nod back nor 
return to his scribbling. Neither does he leave. But he does watch Nick.

Nicodemus waits at the counter as his order is filled. He fishes his 
wallet, removes a credit card and a nickle. He flips the nickle, catches 
it, places it on the back of his hand, and then looks to see the result. 
The coin then gets dropped into the need-a-penny-take-a-penny container. 
Order up, Nick pays for it and then heads over towards Ramos' table. "Got a 
couple extra donuts, if you're interested. And I'm hoping that maybe we 
just got off on the wrong foot earlier. Mind if I join you?"

Considering Ramos' furtiveness and general wariness, it's perhaps 
surprising that he doesn't move to cover his writing. Then again, what's 
he's writing doesn't appear to be in English or in any recognizable form of 
language or lettering. "Wrong... foot, yes. Wrong foot, wrong steps." He 
looks from Nick to the empty chair across from him and then back again. 
"Yes, join."

Nicodemus slides into the seat opposite you after given permission to do 
so, settling down with a large cup of coffee and a bag of donuts. He tears 
the bag open, creating an impromptu paper tray that exposes all the donuts 
within. All fattening stuff. Jelly and cream filled only. He helps himself 
immediately to a raspberry jelly donut right as his stomach growls audible. 
He takes a bite, not returning conversation until he's chewed and rapidly 
swallowed. Guess he was hungry? Come to think of it, he looks as if maybe 
he spent a night or three out in the woods recently. "You doing okay? Not 
running into any bad people?" he says, cautious that there's a lot of other 
people in the restaurant, as he takes a swallow from the steaming-hot 
beverage without blinking or registering its heat.

Ramos waits until Nick takes his first bite before snaking out a broad hand 
to take a donut for himself. He sniffs it a couple of times before 
devouring it almost as quickly. Then he licks his fingers, saying slowly, 
"Some bad people. Always, everywhere bad people. But not... no hurt to me."

Nicodemus is not as quick in polishing his donut off, bet he's not wasting 
time either. Shortly after you've eaten one, he's finishing his off. With 
one bite left to go, he replies, "That's good. I was hoping they wouldn't 
bother you. Or get to you. Have you managed to run into, uh, other family 
members? Not counting Mack or Ghost, that is? The people who live here 
permanently."

Ramos continues licking his fingers, sucking off every possible bit of 
clinging sugar. "Not... not formal. Where they know. It is better. What 
they do not see, they do not hunt. What is not right /here/--" Ramos waves 
his hand in front of his face. "--is ignore."

Nicodemus polishes off his first donut, but he doesn't bother licking his 
fingers. He just grasps another one. Cream filled. Chocolate. "That's true. 
Although the locals do have their hands full with a number of problem at 
the moment. They're a little..." He pauses, searching for the right word, 
which allows him to take a bite of donut and think. Swallowing, he offers, 
"They're busy with larger things right now. It should be relatively easy to 
be ignored if you keep your head down. Of course, if you end up needing 
help and haven't made yourself known to the locals, they may or may not be 
inclined to help you out should you truly need it." He takes a swallow of 
hot beverage and follows that up with an assault on the second donut.

Ramos also takes another donut and bites into it, eating this one more 
slowly. "My... my ears not wet. I know. I /know/." He grimaces, polishes 
off half of the donut, then consumes the rest by dunking it in his 
well-sugared-and-creamered coffee, with bits of donut and jelly sloughing 
off into the lukewarm liquid. "I speak to a... a friend. Friend in the 
shadow. She sees much, likes talk."

Nicodemus drops his voice lower as he finishes his second donut at a pace 
about as quick as the first. "Spirit?" he inquires cautiously.

Ramos slurps down his now jelly donut flavored coffee, nodding.

"Interesting," Nick replies, clearly curious about this. "If you don't mind 
me asking, what kind and for how long?"

Ramos hesitates for a bit before answering. "Vulture. Big wings, long 
flyer. Friend a very long time, as long as I remember."

"Oh, really? I've se... heard of those before. Never knew someone who had 
struck up a friendship with one, though." Nick reaches for a third donut, 
his pace severely slowed now as sugar enters the bloodstream and starts 
quelling whatever hunger pangs he'd been experiencing before. "And such a 
long-running relationship? You and your friend must have a real affinity 
for one another. He's helping to keep watch over you?"

"/She/, she she she." Ramos is pretty adamant about this. "She watches, she 
sees things, she speaks to me. Answers questions, helps when I help her. 
Very wise, very old."

Nicodemus places the half-remaining donut on a napkin, then he taps the 
table top twice with his index finger. "It sounds to me like you and 
/she/," he emphasizes, "would be of potential use to the locals. If you 
wanted to be. In exchange for some considerations in return." He leans back 
slightly in his chair. "I can probably make that happen with the Walker 
family. Maybe the other family in the city, too."

Ramos takes another donut and bites into it, chewing slowly. He looks down 
at his sketchbook full of arcane writing(?). Considers. "Yes," he says 
finally. "Will do. Tried do, thought Mack was... one of you, one of the 
leader. Has seeming." He shrugs.

Nicodemus spreads his hands. "You assumed. She never clarified. It's a 
hazard of not making a good and proper introduction--like tradition calls 
for. And one of the reasons I got frustrated and angry earlier." The hands 
collect before him on the table. "So would you like me to make contact for 
you? With someone from my family? If you're willing to lend a hand in the 
city, and perhaps make some kind of oath or something, they might grant you 
access to the certain areas."

"Tradition?" Ramos shakes his head. "Tradition, your family not speak at 
all to me. Tradition, I am not here. Do not see, do not hear, do not smell. 
Not exist. Or if exist, kill. That is tradition. But, you know who will 
ignore tradition, yes, I will help. Make exchanges."

"My family is smart enough to know which traditions make sense and which 
traditions are best.... remembered as outdated rituals of the past and how 
things used to be," Nick states levelly and perhaps with a hint of pride at 
the Walkers' progressive, adaptive nature. "Do you have a phone?"

"Have, yes, but it stops speaking." Ramos shifts around in his chair -- 
he's not quite sitting, really, more perching near the edge -- and pulls a 
battered Nokia cellphone out of a coat pocket. It's old, dirty, definitely 
not a smart phone, and its screen is cracked.

Nicodemus eyes it dubiously. "That one has seen better days. Time for an 
upgrade." He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a brand new burner 
phone with a charging cord, which is then placed on the table and slid 
across to you. "Thirty minutes, pre-paid., and two hundred texts. The 
number is taped to the back." Because a Walker kin might carry precisely 
that sort of thing in his pocket, right? "I'll pass it along to my family 
and have someone with more authority than me give you a call. Hopefully you 
two will be able to come to some sort of mutually beneficial arrangement."

Ramos takes the new phone and turns it around and over in his hands, 
examining it, even sniffing it a little. He then pockets it, along with the 
dead one. "'Mutually beneficial arrangement,'" he echoes, nodding. "Yes." 
Even now, though, he seems a mite cautious. Certainly not overeager.

Nicodemus assures you with a wry smile, "They're good people, or I wouldn't 
be working with them. I'd have walked away and found my own path. Like you 
chose to do."

Ramos doesn't smile back, just kind of grunt-humphs and gathers up his book 
of scrawlings, his pen, the scraps of empty sugar packets. Preparing to 
leave. "I will find out. Sometimes, people are good to some but not to all."

"I know how that can be." Nick pushes the remaining donuts in your 
direction. "Here. For the road."

Ramos takes the offering without hesitation, muttering, "Thank," like he's 
suddenly reaches his limit of human interaction. He heads out rather 
quickly after that.

Nicodemus offers a farewell to the departing garou and sets to work typing 
up something on his smartphone.