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 Posted: Tue Jun 29, 2010 10:35 pm
Quinn loved his job. It was great. He got to serve ice cream and coffee, drink as much as he wanted, and, best of all, served his creation: The Cold Coma. Equal parts espresso and ice cream of any flavor, it had quickly become the Igloo's signature drink. He was the main 'chef', as he liked to call himself, but mostly he enjoyed interacting with the people that bought the things he made.
He loved The Igloo, and its owners loved him. He had raised it from being a simple shop to a major destination, especially in the summer. In the winter, they focused more on the hotter drinks (Warm coffee, hot chocolate), but some diehard fans of Quinn's drinks would have the Cold Coma any day of the year.
He smiled as he received an order, tossing ice cream into a blender with some coffee and mixing it together. This time, the Cold Coma was made with a white mocha and...mint chocolate chip? Oh well, customer's orders. He quickly poured the mixture into a separate container, and added some extra ingredients (mostly just more sugar). He closed the container and shook. It was the most important part of the drink! The shaking gave it the texture it needed, and added frothiness to the top.
Quinn was ridiculously proud of himself, and he hadn't even really created anything new.
He poured the drink into a tall glass, and handed it to the customer, moving on to the next order.
It didn't feel like work.
It felt like art.
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Posted: Tue Jun 29, 2010 10:47 pm
Seamus wasn't here because of any act of good will on his own part (at least, he told himself so). He was here because curiosity killed the Carnegie, and a little bit because he wanted some ice cream.
The fact that he'd purposefully dressed in his tailored zoot suit (a contemporary take on the old fashion, composed of sharp whites and blacks with the signature Carnegie crest embroidered into the breast pocket) was purely coincidental. He was allowed to dress smartly once in a while, even when visiting a rinky-dink ice cream shop.
It hardly meant anything. Murphy had espied his get-up and immediately shimmied into his own (inverse, more black than white, and the irony was not lost on Seamus), asking if they were on one of the rare jobs with their grandpop today, but Seamus told him no.
The fact that they only wore these suits on their jobs with Grandpop (who adhered to a strict dress code composed entirely of these suits) meant nothing.
He slid onto one of the barstools at the front, swiveling briefly before resting his elbows on the counter.
"Barkeep. I'll have the best in house," he commanded gruffly, a smirk pulling at his lips and twisting the scars stretching along his face.
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Posted: Tue Jun 29, 2010 11:11 pm
Quinn looked at Seamus and snorted. "Alright, then, I'll make you my special. On the house. What kind of ice cream?" He finished working on the only other customer's order, and leaned over the counter to smile at Seamus.
The job had started out trying to make him wear clothes covering his whole body, for codes or something, but they quickly gave up. He was wearing an apron over his bare skin, and his usual shorts.
Quinn was reminded of a song his mom used to play when he was younger. Something about the outfit Seamus was wearing.
You've got me in a sway, and I want to swing ya dove...
"I will admit, you look good in it. Whatever it is." He smiled. "But then again, you would even look good in nothing. Especially nothing." He winked and began preparations for the drink.
"I want to test an idea with this drink, too. You're already jonesing, aren't you? Probably not too bad, but enough to need some juice? I'm going to see if the cold from the ice cream will preserve it enough that you can drink it instead of me having to give it to you directly."
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Posted: Tue Jun 29, 2010 11:26 pm
"French Vanilla," he decided, as if it wasn't the ice cream he always ordered without fail. Not a ripple showed in his expression that might've acknowledged the fact that he knew precisely what the potential double entendre might be, except for the understated grin on his face growing wider.
"A Carnegie always looks good," he admonished, humbly, tipping the brim of his white hat back to better show off his face. "I'd show you what I mean, but then they might arrest me."
Seamus had to admit that, since he no longer wanted to strangle Quinn quite so often, it had become easier and easier to flirt back. Senselessly, facetiously, in the same song and dance that he and his brother always put upon when they teased.
"It worked with the apple, it'll probably work with the ice cream." The heels of his shoes tapped a beat on the metal run of the stool, giving away his impatient cravings. "Though if it works, I'm going to end up with enough cavities to make my dentist rich."
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Posted: Tue Jun 29, 2010 11:31 pm
"Oui oui, monsieur," Quinn grinned, and scooped the ice cream into the blender. Followed by the container, and then the shaking. He poured it into a clear glass, but it overflowed a bit. He used his tongue to catch the excess on the side of the glass, keeping his eyes on Seamus as he did so.
"I wouldn't want you to get arrested. Jails are such limiting places. I would hardly ever see you, then. And you're a wuss. You'd probably die." He shrugged, and set the glass in front of the Carnegie.
"True. But, you know, apples are naturally good at holding poison. Just ask Snow White." He laughed, "But she didn't get cavities."
He eyed Seamus's drink. "Be careful. There's a reason it's called the Cold Coma. Seriously strong, babe."
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Posted: Tue Jun 29, 2010 11:48 pm
That was a dirty move, one that Seamus definitely had not put past Quinn.
This was war, and Carnegies never lost a battle. He leaned forward to pull the glass closer, amusement dancing along his lips.
"Been there, done that. And I have the tattoos to prove it." The sly, undeniably devilish crook to his face spoke volumes about where, exactly, those tattoos might be located.
Sizing the drink up, he gave it a once-over, as if briefly heeding Quinn's words - before tipping it back, back, back and downing half the chilly concoction in one go. A shiver ran through his body, followed by the tell-tale twitch and clench of his jaw.
Show no weakness, his mind warned him.
He shivered again, before breaking and pressing his palms into his forehead, knocking the hat askew as he whined.
"Brain freeze! Oh, goddess, have mercy!"
Strong drink indeed. His goddess did not listen to his pleas.
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Posted: Tue Jun 29, 2010 11:53 pm
Quinn snorted.
"Once again. Wuss." He couldn't help but let his mind wander to thoughts of the tattoos the carnegie might have, though. He had to schooch a little closer to the counter for a moment so that nobody saw anything embarassing.
"It should go away, soon, but once the caffeine and sugar hit your body," He smirked, "I can't wait to see how hyper you get."
There was another customer, so he attended to them, but no one else came, and most of the customers were filing out. It was a dead time.
"Last time a godling was in here, they tried to shoot me." He paused, trying to remember if there was a point to telling him that.
"Please don't try to shoot me."
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Posted: Wed Jun 30, 2010 12:08 am
"Shoot you? Now why would I do a silly little thing like that?" He put the angelic face on, the one he and Murphy had long-since perfected when confronting their mum.
The caffeine must've been going to his head (either that, or the devil himself had stepped into Seamus' shoes), because his hands were splayed on the counter as he leaned dangerously closer, the corner of his lip curling back in a half-smile.
"How 'bout you come a little closer and I'll show you how much of a wuss I am?"
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Posted: Wed Jun 30, 2010 12:11 am
Quinn shrugged. "I dunno, Tepin didn't really seem to have a reason, either."
He raised an eyebrow at the threats, but placed his own palms down on the counter parallel to Seamus's, and leaned over until his nose was a fraction of an inch away from the Carnegie's.
"Go right ahead. But you hurt me and I'll bite you so hard you'll wish you were really in a coma." His eyes were narrow, and his lips were curled back to show his fangs.
"Wuss."
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Posted: Wed Jun 30, 2010 12:23 am
For a split second of time - a single moment which would later come to worry him immensely - Seamus didn't know what, exactly, he'd been planning to do, mind curiously blank when Quinn was nose-to-nose with him.
There was the traumatic fear of those fangs again - something he hadn't been quite able to drill out of his dreams, yet. But it wasn't the fear that stalled him.
He hurtled over the moment, though, with all the grace God had blessed him with.
In one fell swoop, he'd flicked Quinn between the eyes.
"Bang."
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Posted: Wed Jun 30, 2010 2:03 pm
It wasn't quite as violent as Quinn had expected. He half wondered if Seamus was going to kiss him, when he hesitated.
Oh, well. The flick hit, the bang sounded, and Quinn staggered backward clutching his heart with a fake look of terrible pain.
"As I draw my last breath--" He tossed himself from side to side, "I ask only that someone finds and kills the sonofabitch that did this to me!" He placed the back of his hand on his forehead and bent backwards dramatically, dead.
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Posted: Wed Jun 30, 2010 2:17 pm
He couldn't help it - he chuckled, then laughed, possibly the first honest sound around Quinn besides seething dislike as he leaned over the counter between them to inspect the corpse.
"They'll never know," he promised, cheerily blowing the smoke off his trigger finger.
"The coppers never catch a Carnegie."
Well, that was a lie. They'd been caught plenty of times - just never at the big things.
"It's a shame, this is a pretty good drink." He allowed himself to briefly regret killing the maker of the Cold Coma, sipping the rest of it at his leisure and enjoying the increasing energy boost the combination of sugar, caffeine, and drug gave him.
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Posted: Wed Jun 30, 2010 2:31 pm
"They'll send the finest detectives after you," He assured, straightening up and resting his elbows back on the counter, "and they'll never rest until they get you behind bars for what you've done. You've killed the Cold Coma forever! Death penalty! Death penalty! The crowds will chant, as they wave their arms frantically and tell their children not to watch."
He shrugged. "You'll be strung up on the gallows. I'd miss you, except I'm dead. No one will miss you."
"So anyway, why did you come here?"
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Posted: Wed Jun 30, 2010 2:52 pm
"My brother might miss me. And Valeriu, he will miss me terribly," he defended, crossing his arms good-naturedly. "Have I told you about our torrid affair? No?" He leaned forward, conspiratorially. "Three words, lad: leash and collar."
Well, that part was true. Murphy and Seamus had, in fact, one day snapped a collar around Prince's neck and dragged him around for the fun of it, just to see him sulk a bit. The irony was that he actually followed along, automatically obedient, despite the fact that he could've easily snapped the leash in two.
What a silly kid. Seamus sometimes wished he'd go back to being the modest, bullheaded kid he'd first met (and ruined the life of).
"I came here to look dapper, and to drink coffee." Seamus waved the question off. "Plus, you owed me a free drink, and I am broke at the moment."
Hospital bills were unrepentant.
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Posted: Wed Jun 30, 2010 9:30 pm
"Three more words:" he paused. "Nevermind, I don't have any words. I also don't know what 'Torrid' means." Quinn shrugged, and laughed at Seamus's explanation.
"But you always look dapper! And who said this was free?" He sighed. He was poor, too! "Fine, fine. I got it." Quinn rolled his eyes and pulled a couple of dollar bills out of the tip pocket of his apron and tossed it in the register, closing it with a clink.
"You should come over to my place after work. We could do a little dancing?" It was a long shot, but he hoped the caffeine and sugar would make Seamus a little more risky.
He decided not to mention that 'his place' was now Vale's house.
And Writ's.
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