Coffee Shop Construction is a go!

[widows_kiss]

Who: Natasha Romanoff and anyone conned into likely to swing by and help
What: Before it can open, the coffee shop needs a little tlc and a few touch-ups.
When: Friday, May 10. Possibly extending into the weekend.
Where: The future location of A Shot In The Dark coffee shop. (AKA, Building M)
Summary: Natasha calls in a few favors and bribes a few friends and teammates into helping her get the coffee shop ready to open. Anyone able to hammer a few nails, wield a paint brush or broom, or move some furniture is invited. Or come ogle some of the shirtless males she's put to work, that's acceptable too.
Rating: PG. Probably. >.>


Natasha's still not entirely sure why she's doing this. Most mornings, she wakes up with the inevitable realization that she's probably lost her mind. She's not one to put down roots, to make a commitment to anything, because things don't last, situations change and her lifestyle choice of 'don't get attached' is slowly getting buried under a mound of teammates, friends, and persistent pests that somehow end up being debatably endearing.

And, apparently, a coffee shop.

Yup. She's definitely lost her mind. That doesn't seem to stop her from going each day and working on the little shop off the plaza, although she's reached a point that there's not much else she can do on her own. She needs help. A galling realization, but hey, that's what teammates are for, right? So, on a bright and sunny Friday morning, she rounds up what help she can find to pound out the last few renovations needed for the place.



((OOC Note: Most of the work needed is inside the cafe itself, although some work can be done outside as well. The doors will be propped open for people to come and go and they're taking pretty much a blank slate of an interior and turning it into this. So, work your character could possibly be doing is helping construct the coffee bar, painting the walls, hanging light fixtures or the shelving behind the coffee bar. Cleaning up the tables and chairs or the other surfaces inside once the sawdust and nail-pounding clears up. And if someone wants to get creative and make her a sign, she will be eternally grateful.

There will be a constant supply of drinks and snacks as well, for people wanting to take breaks or those wandering by to eyeball the proceedings. Hop in, help out, or just stop by to chat.))

Comments

[eversohungry]

Yes, neither did I, admittedly. [Vastra looks slightly embarrassed as well. But really, there were quite a few people bustling about and working, it was probably only a matter of time before someone got clipped. Unfortunately it was the man with the cable in in his back...]

[She tilts her head at him, matching his mild surprise with her own mild curiosity. Not that she's never seen human and machine joined together, but it does set her on edge just a little.]

I didn't damage that... [Vastra waves an arc with her finger in the general direction of her back, not exactly sure what to call it.] ...did I?

[bionically]

[Strangely, this has never happened until now; if anything, he’d have expected that sort of incident on the battlefield. There’s always a first time, he muses wryly. At her question, he blinks and snaps to awareness, unsure as to what expression of face he might have been wearing while gazing back, and hoping it hadn’t come off as offensive.]

Nah. [He glances to his shoulder (although that doesn’t offer a good glimpse of the cable.)] I’d be in trouble if it were that easy to yank out.

[eversohungry]

...so in addition to wings, you have a very prominent and important tube on your back? [This man couldn't catch a break, could he?]

[bionically]

[Nosireebob.]

Pretty much. [He flexes and curls his metal fingers experimentally.] Without it, my arm wouldn't work like it should. [Though 'at all' would probably be a better way of putting it.]

[eversohungry]

[Ah, so this appeared to be a 'prosthetic' situation of sorts. Though if the arm would malfunction without the cable...]

Wouldn't it be better then, if the cable were tucked into your back somehow?

[bionically]

[He dips his head, lips pressing thin in thought.]

...Would be nice, but I don't see how they'd do it. You're just gonna have to take my word for it that the bionics engineers back home put a lot of thought into it and did the best they could.

[And it has taken multiple extensive surgeries to make the fusion of metal and man possible. Perhaps future models would have less of a snag-hazard and no one else would suffer the awkwardness of being caught on the leg of a table.]

Might not be very pretty, but it has gotten me out of a pinch more times than I can count.

[eversohungry]

Oh, please don't misunderstand--I am hardly one for aesthetics when functionality is the key factor. Generally speaking I rearrange my furniture at least once a month in an effort to get the most out of a room.

And I'm guessing from that arm, you must be more of a 'frontal attack' sort of person. So your back wouldn't much factor in.

[bionically]

Can't make up your mind?

[He jokes goodnaturedly, on the edge of a chuckle. At the question, however, he sobers a little.]

Mostly, yeah. There are a couple of ways I can take out threats coming at me from behind. Just have to make sure I know they're there, first.

[eversohungry]

No, I just get bored or curious. [She frowns, slightly defensive in her response.] And leaving things stagnant is a sure way to fall into complacency.

[Vastra allows herself to be pleased for a moment after guessing his fighting style. She's still got it in some respects.] Only a couple? Do you typically have someone covering your back?

[bionically]

...Touche. [He had never thought about it that way -- and it made sense for a place like this. Note to self: don't joke about interior design and room composition.]

I have only just gotten back from my first mission since the accident. Back home, I mean. Had an army backing me up and agents providing intel when and where they could, but I was on my own when it came to actually infiltrating enemy bases. [A pause. His turn for a little moment of satisfaction that seeps into his otherwise neutral tone.]

I'd say those couple of tricks have been pretty useful.

[eversohungry]

Hm, I would say so. [Vastra nods appreciatively, though she has to resist the urge to roll her eyes at the mention of an entire army backing one man. It was somewhat typical though, wasn't it?]

So you lost your arm in an accident and were fitted for this prosthetic then, is that right?

[bionically]

[It sure is. They had needed thousands of soldiers to beat back the Imperial threat, and his business first and foremost had only been to rescue their best agent held at an unknown POW camp before doing what he could to slow down the enemy. It had turned out far better than most had expected for the FSA.]

Yeah. [He pauses, not knowing what more to say. It's a grim memory.] ...It's Spencer, by the way. [He offers after a beat, extending his flesh-and-bone hand.]

[eversohungry]

[Vastra raises her eyebrows. She was thinking that perhaps there would be a story, or some specifications, or something... but subject-change it was. Vastra is a lady of Victorian times, after all--she has a hand firmly on the pulse of any conversation at any time.]

A please to meet you, Mr. Spencer. [Vastra takes his hand (no shake), and nods with a polite smile.] I am Madam Vastra.

[bionically]

Likewise, ma'am.

[The lack of handshake on her end comes as a bit of surprise but he doesn't think too hard on it. Different customs for different folks, and he won't assume the culture she identifies with is identical to his.]

...Guess I should let you get back to it and get on it myself before Miss Romanoff catches me slacking off.

[The comment's accompanied by a cheeky grin. In actuality he has had no trouble with Natasha at all, being permitted to contribute and take micro-breaks as he sees fit.]

[eversohungry]

[Vastra chuckles.] Yes, I imagine Miss Romanoff will have both of our heads, especially if she catches me distracting you. [She smiles back and nods.] A pleasure talking, Mr. Spencer. My apologies again for the chair.

[bionically]

[His little smirk lingers and turns playfully wry as he sees her off with another joke.]

Don't sweat it. It's the chair that owes me the apology.