20100205 - The First To Oath

Sat Feb 05 04:37:01 2011 - Winter


** polychrome**

The Polychrome 2.0 is a serious upgrade in both style and function. Gone is the soft-industrial warehouse look, the walls repainted from their worn brick color to a more warm rich red adobe. The walls are adorned with old Sci-Fi posters and paintings by independent local artists.

The entire cafe is situated around a circular bar-like counter in the very center of the room which, in turn, surrounds the chrome and copper homemade monstrosity Frankenchino machine the only surviving relic of the previous Polychrome. Frankenchino billows steam and froth from it's masses of pipes and valves, the temperature and levels of fluids measured by gleaming old fashioned pressure gages and controlled by a plethora of levers and turn-gaskets. Comfortable high backed chromed stools with leather upholstery orbit the counter, which through it's thick Plexiglas surface into it's refrigerated interior can be seen sandwiches and pastries and other snacks in refrigerated. Above the counter is an outfacing circle of LCD TVs showing various feeds off the Internet.

Circular segmented couches surround low black coffee tables around the cafe, each one having a computer monitor on a swivel in the center and a cordless keyboard and mouse and allowing the patrons full and free net access. In one corner there are more dedicated semi-private computer terminals at high-mounted and a kiosk where one can rent a laptop. Another corner sports an Internet jukebox which has been built into the body of a full sized Robby the Robot replica. Another corner has a small stage from which patrons can enjoy independent bands or poets on certain nights. The last corner is set up with merchandise such as books, magazines, shirts, mugs and gadgets.



Midmorning, and Robert is here, settled with coffee and a newspaper at the counter. Beside him, on the floor, his gym bag resting on the floor. Clearly settled for the lunch rush, his plate of cookies is slowly disappearing. The sleet outside doesn't encourage people to step out there, and it batters on the window.

Una opens the door and, after quietly stomping some of the snow from her boots, steps within. There's a pair of headphones on her ears, bright and near-neon blue, her head bobbing to the beat slightly as she moves towards the counter.

A shiver runs through Paul as he transitions from the cold of the out of doors to the heat of the coffee shop. He runs a hand through his hair, disloding some of the sleet that collected there as he jogged from his car to the door, and heads towards the counter for a drink.

Robert's head lifts slowly as his gaze moves over the two newcomers, a quick tilt of his head pure wolf as he follows their movements. He raises his voice to speak, "Una." The greeting is a single word, as he indicates the stool beside him, with a brief nod of his head. The other man gets a curious glance, questioning.

Una looks over to Paul, eyes widening, then narrowing, as she considers him. A subtle flare of nostrils leads to a small smile, before she orders her drink. Her head lifts at the sound of her name, and she looks over to Robert and gives a 'one sec' sort of gesture. Coffee now in hand, she moves over to his table, bending so she can press her cheek to his before sitting down. "Afternoon, Robert."

While his own coffee is prepared, Paul gives Una, and then Robert, their own looks. The tilt of his head, the scenting with his nose, are all that not-quite-human kind of motions. And when the small, black coffee is in hand, he finds himself following Una over to Robert. It likely has nothing to do with the movement of her hips.

Robert accepts the gesture, giving the woman a flicker of his wry smile, humor appearing in his eyes. As the man approaches, that smile fades, his expression the neutrality of the wolf considering another. He doesn't move, remaining in his seat as he indicates the other stool to the man, a questioning tilt of his head matching the steady, watching gaze. "I am Robert Moye." He introduces himself softly, his voice a low rumble.

Una is settled into the chair, her own dark gaze watching Paul, carefully. She holds her coffee a bit tightly, watching the interaction between the two males in almost wary silence.

Paul doesn't take the offered stool immediately. Instead, he leans in to Robert, reaching to take a hand for a shake. Old friends here, right? Nothing strange to see. And the cheek nuzzle, most might think it just an odd affection. To Una and Robert, though, it's a submissive's greeting in public. "Paul Browning," he rumbles back, a southern twang to his voice.

Robert's hand is easily found, and he does not turn it into a contest, merely shaking the other's with a firm grip. The submissive greeting is accepted with that wry flicker of a smile, the neutral face broken briefly by the upcurve of his lips in the beard, and the creasing of his eyes. He silently pushes the cookie plate towards them, a domanate sharing his food now he is done, caring for pack. He watches them closely, their responses.

Una watches them, and a soft breath that she didn't know she was holding is let out. She waits for the greeting to be finished before she offers to Paul, friendly-like, "Una Walker." The plate pushed over, she takes up one of the cookies on it, nibbling.

Paul takes up one of the cookies as well, since it was pushed towards him. He even nibbles along the edge of it. And now his stool is taken, the man perched on the edge of it, back straight.

Robert's wry smile returns, a faint air of puzzlement in his eyes before he rests his arms on the counter, hands meshing. He seems to weigh up the decision to speak before he does, and when he does, each word is selected with care. "Are you both my family?" The words are low, a rumble that comes from deep inside his chest.

Una licks her lips before she speaks. When she does, it's softly, almost meek. "You welcomed me into your home when I had none, took me in and showed me kindness. I am your family, and will help where I am needed." There is a lift of her chin, a showing of throat that suggests that, were they not in public, it would be a full bareing of her belly.

"Off and on," Paul begins, "I've been in this city for nearly six years." He washes down some cookie crumbs with his coffee. "I've been part of the Spirit Rock pack for five and a half of that," he finishes up, as if his answer were contained somewhere in there.

Robert stares at the gesture Una makes for a moment before he leans into her, as if to whisper into her ear, pressing a light kiss against her jaw line, as close as he can to accepting it in public. "I will protect you in the matters to come." His voice is low, designed only for them to hear, a mere murmur. "I thank you for your trust." He turns to look at Paul, his face thoughtful, his words careful. "And I do not plan on giving up the memories it carries. Your guidance is welcomed."

Paul may recognize that he's the lowest of those around, but that doesn't make him weak. "You want my advice? Stick around. Six years, and as many men at the top, yeah? You want a strong group, you don't shake things up by going off and dying." His broad shoulders shrug and he finishes off his cookie.

Robert nods slowly, the smile fading a little. "I have no intention of dying but I cannot give my word to it. I give you my word that I will do everything in my power to avoid it." The words are close, careful, and thought out. He watches Paul's reaction with a steady gaze.

Paul's shoulders roll again. "Good enough for now, I guess." His fingers lace almost together as they circle the cup of coffee he holds in his hands. Eyes flick to Una, then back to Robert.

Robert's gaze drops to his coffee mug and he takes a long swig, using it to buy himself some time to think. He holds it out, giving Miah an appealing look to refill it. Then he turns his gaze to Una, to move between the two. "My home is open to both of you. I am building a safe room for those who cannot trust their beasts. I am openly as I am, so should you not be so, then please inform me, so that I can work to protect you from view as best I may." The words are softly spoken.

"I was with the Marhsal's office when I was turned," Paul says. "I'm registered as a deadly weapon." There's the curl of a grin to go with his words. "Don't worry about outting me, I did it myself long ago."

Una smiles, softly, to Robert. "I have hidden what I am for some time, coming from a state that borders one with a less than friendly attitude about our kind. But," she pauses, "I do not want to hide, anylonger, if it is more productive for our family for me to be unhidden."

Robert nods slowly, a mental note taken as he speaks softly, "I was also. A different force but the situation was similar. I have retained Evie Higgins as a lawyer for the family, should you need her." He hesitates, choosing his words slowly, "I am also putting other arrangements in place for financial assistance should it be needed by one of us." He is cautious there, avoiding naming those arrangements. Una's words bring that wry smile to his lips, warming his eyes, breeching the impassiveness of the man. "I believe that only by coming into the light and showing the truth of our people can we remove the fear of those who seek to harm us."

"Extra bedroom in my apartment if anyone needs it," Paul drawls, offering up his own home to help the greater good. He takes a final drink from his coffee and puts the cup down on the counter. A shake of his head ends the barista's thoughts of refilling it.

The three are sitting at the end of the counter, a plate of cookies between them. It is midmorning, heading to lunch time, and the sleet hammers at the windows. Robert's paper is abandoned beneath his coffee mug, and they seem deep in low voiced discussion. "My thanks. I will keep that in mind."

The sleet still falls at a pretty good clip outside and in walks a lovely young woman with her jacket on, screaming police. With so nod to the staff they bring her a cup of jo and she starts working on it, while pulling out a lap top.

Paul nods. "I think my traveling days are mostly done, so I should be here rather than taking off again," he's telling Robert, and perhaps Una as well. A hand is lifted to wave at the departing woman.

Robert takes his business card from his bag, holding one out to both silently with a slow nod. "Thank you. Please call me if you need anything." His stress on the last word is clear that he means it, before he takes a slow swig of coffee, closing his eyes for a moment, the taciturn man clearly thinking hard. The newcomer gets attention though, a steady glance of the impassive gaze before he returns his attention to Paul. "I have no intention of traveling." He replies softly.

Emerald looks up at Robert as she is eye balled, but she does keep an eye on the pair with a bit of a grin. Who knows why. The officer gives a little nod to the pair while typing something into her lap top to wake it up.

Paul takes the business card and glances at it for a minute. The card goes into his wallett, the wallet back into his pants. "You need anything?" he asks Robert, starting to get off his own stool.

Robert returns the nod with an inclination of his head, and returns his attention carefully to Paul, speaking in a low voice designed to keep the words between them, cautiously. "I do not. At this moment, your support is all I need." He offers a hand to Paul, oddly formal with a flicker of the wry smile. "And I thank you for it."

Emerald watches carefully, reading lips maybe or simply watching. But, she does seem to get what was said, thats what one gets for being a swat sniper, you learn. The woman grasps her coffee in hand and sips the jo before turning back to her lap top and starts typing again. If anyone looked at the mirror behind her, they'd see alittle flash type game pop up.

Paul nods to Robert, taking the hand for a brief, firm shake. "I'm in the book, if you need me." Robert's hand is let go and Paul stuffs his own hands in the pockets of his hoody and heads back out to brave the snow.

Robert is left alone at the end of the counter, his gaze following the other man thoughtfully, before he dips to back to his coffee. His face is neutral, his thoughts and feelings well hidden behind the impassive gaze. Attention goes to coffee and his paper, in silence.

Paul pulls open one of the double doors and steps through it, walking out into the street, the door swinging back closed on it's own and a bell dingling.

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