Class of 2000 - IC - Public Areas
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Light =&gt; Light: Human Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: GnothiSeauton on 07-09-2020, 19:13:20</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Class of 2000 - IC - Public Areas</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>GnothiSeauton</strong> on <strong>07-09-2020, 19:13:20</strong>
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				<div align="center"><span style="font-size: 16pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font"><strong>Class of 2000 - IC <br>Public Areas Threads</strong></span></span></div><br><br><div align="center">(https://www.topvaluereviews.net/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/rockland-maine-small-town-main-streets.jpg)</div><br><br><div align="center"><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font"><em>This is the IC Public Areas Thread, dedicated for scenes that take place in public areas of the community (i.e. shops, restaurants, parks, streets, etc).&nbsp; Scenes here should be considered semi-private unless otherwise stated in the header.</em></span></div><br><br><div class="codeheader">Code: <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return smfSelectText(this);" class="codeoperation">[Select]</a></div><pre style="margin: 0; padding: 0;"><code class="bbc_code">[floatright][img height=200 padding=10]Image URL Goes Here[/img][/floatright]<br>[b]Character:[/b]&nbsp; [url=Character Sheet URL]Name of your Character[/url]<br>[b]Date and Time:[/b]&nbsp; When your post takes place<br>[b]Where:[/b]&nbsp; Where your post takes place<br>[b]Tagging:[/b]&nbsp; With whom your posts interacts with or mentions<br>[b]Open/Close:[/b]&nbsp; Open or Closed Scene<br>[b]Wearing:[/b]&nbsp; What's your character wearing<br>[b]Content Warning:[/b]&nbsp; What's in your post?</code></pre>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Class of 2000 - IC - Public Areas</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lyron</strong> on <strong>15-09-2020, 02:44:29</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(https://i.imgur.com/C9Ew7MS.jpg)</div><strong>Character:</strong>&nbsp; Marc Morales (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=324741.msg15581723#msg15581723)<br><strong>Date and Time:</strong>&nbsp; Monday, July 20th, 10:00am<br><strong>Where:</strong>&nbsp; Helene's cafe<br><strong>Tagging:</strong>&nbsp; Ramon<br><strong>Open/Close:</strong>&nbsp; Ask first?<br><strong>Wearing:</strong>&nbsp; A plain, soft green tee (https://www.bellacanvas.com/bella/product/large/300100081_3.jpg); dark wash jeans; sneakers; and an analog wristwatch<br><strong>Content Warning:</strong> Minor homophobic term&nbsp; <br><br>It had gone...decent. Better than expected.<br><br>Marc was still convinced he should have thought harder about the venue. Scorching liquids were nothing to play around with, or forks, for that matter, but he suspected the Parisian-styled cafe catered best to Ramon's taste. Marc sat on the side of the room as if he were his own island, his back turned to the wall. An iced tea sweated in its plastic cup on the table. He had hardly touched it. His attention shifted between the door and the people scattered around him--nine, to be exact, enough to hopefully set a mind at ease, if it was needed. It would be understandable. The last time they interacted in a substantial manner, Marc hadn't exactly been genuine.<br><br>But this time was different. This time he lacked that particular chip on his shoulder. He even wore one of the two brightest shirts he owned, a break from the darker neutrals he favored as of late. He felt like the ass end of a lightning bug, but if it made him look more approachable, so be it.<br><br>He checked his watch again. It was ten o'clock. Time to see if Ramon would be punctual or run a power play. Softly, Marc cleared his throat, the only other sign that could expose his nerves. He sipped on the iced tea before going back to being a real zen master, with his bare forearms resting on the cool surface of the table. The cigarette from over ten minutes ago had helped mellow him.<br><br>He'd wait for as long as it took.<br><br>The next time the door opened, it was like he was riding a Slinky, his eyes picking up on the familiar face before conscious thought kicked in, falling on him like a sack of potatoes. He had to remind himself to breathe. The slow exhale took with it some of the tension in his chest. He tried a smile, just a little one, made easy when he realized how foolish he was acting. He had faced down a barrel of a gun a couple weeks ago, yet he was getting anxious meeting a fairy.<br><br>One who was also a hotshot lawyer.<br><br>At least he had been able to compose himself. Marc studied the appearance of the man he had once considered a friend, watched for as long as it took him to finally walk over. When their eyes inevitably met, he'd hold it for as long as Ramon did. A little humor seeped in again. It offered another smile on a silver platter. That was good. Forcing them had never worked for him, and it had worsened with age.<br><br>When Ramon approached, Marc stood, hand outstretched for the greeting. "<em>Hola</em>," he said, pronouncing the H, as promised."Thanks for agreeing to meet. It's been a while. I see the last twenty years have treated you well."
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Class of 2000 - IC - Public Areas</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dotley</strong> on <strong>16-09-2020, 05:20:58</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/7/79/Dotley-Ramon-01.jpg)</div><strong>Character:</strong>&nbsp; Ramon de la Rosa (http://Character Sheet URL)<br><strong>Date and Time:</strong> July 20th || 10amish<br><strong>Where:</strong> Helene’s Cafe<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Marc<br><strong>Open/Close:</strong> Open-ish/Closed-ish — Ask First<br><strong>Wearing:</strong>&nbsp; Tailored Suit &amp; Expensive Accessories <br><strong>Content Warning:</strong> Gay Power Moves<br><br>Ramon dressed for battle.<br><br>Not real fists-and-knuckles with bared teeth fight, lord forbid. Ramon had grown up and thus grown out of physical confrontations ages ago. His style of battle matured with his age, namely by becoming about...well, <em>style</em>. Ramon didn’t dress to impress people — he dressed to depress them. It felt incredible to be the best dressed person in the entire room and when you looked good you became good.<br><br>That sort of power was transformative. And intoxicating.<br><br>He always traveled with his best. It didn’t matter if it was a weekend getaway to San Diego or a much deserved holiday back in New York City. Or even a long avoided and overdue trip back to his hometown. He dressed in his best. Handcrafted Italian leather loafers. The pink Parisian silk tie with a perfectly matched pocket square. One of his favorite two-piece suits, custom made and tailored from ankle to shoulder. Diamond encrusted cuff-links. His hair styled just so. Shoes polished to shine. Cologne spritzed on and hands moisturized. Ramon looked good and he knew it. He dressed too good for the little cozy and quaint cafe he ended up at. Maybe too good for all of West Harper, though that might have just been his inner snob and narcissist banding together. Though, that didn’t necessarily make it untrue.<br><br>Ramon arrived ten minutes late. Fashionably late for a fashionable man.<br><br>He'd told Marc not to be late, but Ramon didn't apply that rule to himself. Why would he? It wasn't court. It was a social call. Or close enough to one. Something inside of him, maybe the last little leftover bite of him that was still a hurt teenage boy, railed against the idea of deigning to be <em>social</em> with Marc Morales. All of the possible people in West Harper, why was Marc the first one to show up in his inbox?<br><br>Alright, maybe he’d dressed up more for war than battle. Ramon could admit that much to himself. He might have still had a pinky hold on a grudge over everything that happened with Marc. They’d parted ways on less than friendly terms. Harsh, horrible words had been exchanged. Fists had flown multiple times and in various directions. Some biting may or may not have occurred. The years had turned the exact details of the memory hazy, but the bitter feeling remained in the well of Ramon’s heart.<br><br>A bitterness that was almost entirely forgotten once he laid eyes on Marc for the first time in over twenty years and heard him spectacularly fail to say <em>hola</em> correctly. Just as he’d promised. Ramon couldn’t stop himself. As bad as that bad memory of Marc was, he had far more good memories of Marc than bad. His lips parted and he released a sudden puff of air, a breath he failed to realize he’d been holding, that sounded suspiciously close to a guffaw. <br><br>Oh, no. No, he wouldn’t be sweetened that easily.<br><br>Ramon closed his eyes for a moment and took in a new breath of air. The next time he exhaled it was a proper sigh. Better. Marc might have been trying to play nice, but Ramon wasn’t going to make it easy for him. “¡Cuánto tiempo sin verte, Marc!” <br><br><em>Long time, no see</em>. Ramon said those specific words for a specific purpose. Because they were true and because he wanted to throw his perfectly trilled R in Marc’s face. He opened his eyes and stared straight at Marc. Almost straight on. Marc was taller than him. Only a few inches, but still — god damn him. Marc had always been taller, an unfairness that Ramon’s late growth spurt after graduation hadn’t remedied. Never mind it.<br><br>“Look, before we get into this whole reunion-chit-chat-thing I need to make one thing very clear to you,” Ramon began. He held up one of his hands, palm out and fingers flat, to pause Marc’s offered hand. It wasn’t a refusal. Not technically. Ramon kept his hand up. He just wasn’t going to shake Marc’s hand unless this offer of...whatever was a genuine one. “If this is some trite step nine out of twelve bullshit or part of a torrid quarter-life crisis breakdown, then I’m not interested and I refuse to participate. Go to therapy and deal with your issues. I’ve done it and trust me it does pay off if you put in the work.”<br><br>Ramon’s attorney face was firmly on and his attorney's voice kicked into overdrive. No further negotiation. Last deal on the table. Though, Ramon couldn’t hide the way his eyes softened as he looked at Marc. They truly had been such good friends as boys. The good outnumbered the bad.<br><br>“But if this is real — fine then,” Ramon said with a curt nod and flip of his wrist, gesturing toward one of the open tables. “You may buy me a cup of coffee.”
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Class of 2000 - IC - Public Areas</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lyron</strong> on <strong>19-09-2020, 19:40:22</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(https://i.imgur.com/C9Ew7MS.jpg)</div><strong>Character:</strong>&nbsp; Marc Morales (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=324741.msg15581723#msg15581723)<br><strong>Date and Time:</strong>&nbsp; Monday, July 20th, 10:00am<br><strong>Where:</strong>&nbsp; Helene's cafe<br><strong>Tagging:</strong>&nbsp; Ramon<br><strong>Open/Close:</strong>&nbsp; Ask first?<br><strong>Wearing:</strong>&nbsp; A plain, soft green tee (https://www.bellacanvas.com/bella/product/large/300100081_3.jpg); dark wash jeans; sneakers; and an analog wristwatch<br><strong>Content Warning:</strong>&nbsp; Trying!<br><br>Marc didn't see a superior man. He saw an old friend wrapped in a security threat.<br><br>Almost as soon as he absorbed the impact of Ramon's appearance, he clocked every accessory adorning the custom-tailored suit, made easier the more the distance closed. Cufflinks were hard to gauge from afar, after all. Then again, he didn't have to scrutinize when he knew the man who wore them--despite how long it had been, certain traits persisted across a lifetime, and from an early age, Ramon had an affinity for fashion, only now, instead of being the boy on food stamps, he was a divorce lawyer who won cases for celebrities. Marc had done the research. On everyone who had mattered to him.<br><br>Surely Ramon had developed the wits to keep himself safe while walking around in thousands of dollars--surely--but working in security developed in Marc a professional cynicism. For a brief moment, his attention drifted from him to the others in the cafe. A woman had just returned her eyes to their sockets before whispering to the other two ladies accompanying her. A man, dressed in a casual button-down, frowned. The MacBook user, well, if she noticed, she didn't care.<br><br>If anything, he suddenly felt like he was working again. The only difference was that he often wore a suit, too, which leveled his appearance with the principal's. Now he was just the "Mexican" talking to Moneybags. Shit, Ramon even smelled expensive.<br><br>And yet, at the same time, they were middle-aged men momentarily transported back in time. Even as breathy as it was, they stood too closely for Marc not to hear the vocalized humor. A smile crept on his own face, a little pleased with himself to elicit such a response, for the short time it lasted. It was as if Ramon rebooted himself, and when the man spoke, Marc was reminded of a peacock, because he understood why Ramon had responded in Spanish. The humor bled into his eyes more. It was something he should be careful about, maybe, but it was a temperament that had allowed him to hold onto some semblance of sanity over the years.<br><br>It beat getting jealous over Ramon being a better speaker, or Ramon showing up ten minutes late, but, despite how he wanted to mend what he had helped to destroy, complaining would have handed the man a win that he wasn't keen to give. Marc acted like he didn't mind, instead focusing on the fact that Ramon had showed up at all. His old friend dismissed the handshake. It was a mole hill he wasn't willing to die on, so Marc let his hand slip inside his jeans pocket, at least for now, something that felt more relaxing than letting it dangle at his side.<br><br>It was a move he was somewhat appreciative of, because Ramon's spiel felt like a knife through the ribs. Marc stopped his muscles from stiffening at the implications, to correct the mistake hopefully before it would be noticed. Why'd Ramon have to go and do that, suggest it was something that it wasn't? So what if he had wanted to patch things? It didn't have to be because of any of those possibilities. The reunion had presented the opportunity. A man could have multiple motivations. He focused on the way his old friend looked at him, although the mention of coffee prompted Marc to glance over his shoulder at the table where his iced tea sat. It would be fine for the time being. <br><br>"Ramon," he began, his attention returning to the man. He thickened the Spanish pronunciation to fulfill his remaining promise. Of the two, it was the more genuine; his trills never had been great. He smiled, too, a small one. "I want to talk to you. It's been twenty years. I know breaking the silence now raises eyebrows, but think about it: you're over there in the Big Orange catching sun, I'm over here in the Big Apple freezing my <em>juevos</em> off every winter. It's like a fruity spinoff of a <em>West Side Story</em>. Now that we're in the same town and I'm not busy being a meat shield, I want to reconnect." There was no denying that this would sound corny. He briefly had to pause to keep a grin from breaking out across his face: "<em>Extraño mi amiguito.</em>" It was a calculated risk, saying he missed his little friend. It used to be what he called Ramon when they were boys, before calling another boy any kind of -ito might have looked strange. Partly it had been to tease him about his height, but it hadn't made the word any less genuine back then. "I have to ask: you got taller, didn't you?"<br><br>Provided he hadn't screwed this up, he would wait for Ramon to take a step toward the counter. He figured most of the control would have to lie with him.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Class of 2000 - IC - Public Areas</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheGrandAdmiral</strong> on <strong>26-09-2020, 12:14:07</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(https://preview.redd.it/vxbnpzdfgxo51.jpg?width=640&amp;crop=smart&amp;auto=webp&amp;s=e0fed651fbf02b9b8dd8c64eba1941962cf657c0)</div><strong>Character:</strong>&nbsp; Katheryn Smith (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=324741.msg15600172#msg15600172)<br><strong>Date and Time:</strong>&nbsp; July 20th, 10:30 am<br><strong>Where:</strong>&nbsp; Where your post takes place<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Open<br><strong>Open/Close:</strong>&nbsp; Open <br><strong>Wearing:</strong>&nbsp; As pictured<br><strong>Content Warning:</strong>&nbsp; Walking around<br><br>Katheryn Smith had arrived the day before and wanted to see the town again. She had not returned here for quite some time. Her parents moved down to Florida and only their large estate remained, mostly empty. Kat did not want to bother the housekeeper and the other staff so she stayed at one of the smaller West Harper's family owned hotels. It was a cosy place, a few rooms, and a lot of privacy. <br><br>Another reason for not wanting to stay in her home was because after graduating High School she had found out the part of the family history that no one liked to talk about very much. That her family had made its fortunes by war profiteering during the Civil War, also from the construction of the railroads (and the related exploitation of the workers), and profiteering during both World Wars... <br><br>That was why she mostly stayed away from West Harper. Too many memories and not all of which pleasant. Being the shy and introverted nerdy girl in the early 00s was more difficult than it is now. The town had not changed that much it seems. Of course it looked more modern, there were some new shops and restaurants, but still the essence was the same. <br><br>Katheryn was not that thrilled to meet her former classmates, though she was hoping to see some of her friends, like Cara, with whom she had kept in touch from time to time. She knew that some of them became quite successful and was happy for them. Hopefully it won't turn into a pissing contest. <br><br>For now she was going to wander down the main street, hopefully she will run into someone...
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Class of 2000 - IC - Public Areas</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dotley</strong> on <strong>29-09-2020, 04:41:10</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/7/79/Dotley-Ramon-01.jpg)</div><strong>Character:</strong>&nbsp; Ramon de la Rosa (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=324741.msg15579446#msg15579446)<br><strong>Date and Time:</strong> July 20th || 10amish<br><strong>Where:</strong> Helene’s Cafe<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Marc<br><strong>Open/Close:</strong> Open-ish/Closed-ish — Ask First<br><strong>Wearing:</strong>&nbsp; Tailored Suit &amp; Expensive Accessories <br><strong>Content Warning:</strong> N/a<br><br>Marc trilled the <em>R</em> of Ramon’s name. <br><br>It brought a fond smile to Ramon’s mouth and sent a little tickle down his spine. Marc’s Spanish had never been as good as Ramon’s. As kids, it’d been one of the things they shared that Ramon was better at. Ramon’s mother hadn’t been able to give him much, but she’d been able to give him the gift of bilingualism. She’d raised him in Spanish. Only in Spanish. They’d been a Spanish speaking household in every sense of the term. His mama had absolutely hounded him about it. The defining phrase of his childhood? <em>En español, mi hijo</em>. As a boyish teenager he’d rolled his eyes at her stubbornness, but as a grownup man he was grateful for her persistence. <br><br>Ramon loved the language. Loved speaking it. Loved hearing it. Most of all he loved the fact that he spoke it so fluently that people rarely pegged it as his second language. Marc spoke Spanish well enough. He could, after all, trill those R’s when he wanted, but there was a — it was difficult to describe. Ramon could only call it <em>secondhand</em> sort of feeling to Marc’s voice when he spoke in Spanish. It was as if something about the language was just a little too loose or a bit too tight for him. Readywear Spanish. Whereas Ramon spoke the language as if it’d been measured and cut just for him. Tailored Spanish.&nbsp; <br><br>His fluency and confidence with Spanish was the reason why their parents had cultivated their friendship in the first place. All their play and conversation had been en español. It’d taken a while, but eventually the forced friendliness had shifted into an actual friendship. In both Spanish and in English. Ramon’s supposed that’s what made their fight and falling out so painful. He’d considered Marc his best friend at one point.<br><br>Ramon didn’t realize how much he’d missed his friend. Not until Marc stood in front of him and admitted it first.<br><br>“Igualmente, mi mayor amigo.” <br><br>The new softness in Ramon’s voice matched the softening of his expression. He didn’t hold onto it,&nbsp; but he didn’t try to suppress it. Ramon just let it come and go. He didn’t try to stifle his laugh either as Marc commented on his height. Ramon thought it would be awkward or strange to be around Marc after all those years, but it wasn’t. Not at all. Easy smile. Easy laughter. Easy words. <br><br>“Fine,” Ramon decided with a light sigh. “Let’s reconnect.”<br><br>Ramon stepped up to the counter and placed his order. A caffè macchiato with extra whipped cream and an extra shot of espresso. Ramon deserved it. He could still feel the lingering grip of jet lag over his body. Hopefully an overdose of sugar and caffeine would chase the last of it away.<br><br>“And shut up. I did, in fact get taller,” Ramon answered with an arched eyebrow as he looked at Marc, “but so did you. Christ, Marc. You aren’t just as tall as a tree, it’s like you’re trying to transform into one. Look at those branches.”<br><br>Ramon lifted his hand and gently poked the muscle of Marc’s arm with his index finger. His playful admiration of Marc only lasted until the barista served up his drink. Finally. Ramon picked up his cup and followed the other man back to his table.<br><br>“So, you’re living in New York? I remember those winters — can’t say I miss them.” There was a lot about that particular city that Ramon didn’t miss. “What else do you hate about it? Please, do speak freely. As a former New Yorker and current, proud Angeleno I’m always up for a good bitch about that place.”
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Class of 2000 - IC - Public Areas</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lyron</strong> on <strong>01-11-2020, 00:40:30</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(https://i.imgur.com/C9Ew7MS.jpg)</div><strong>Character:</strong>&nbsp; Marc Morales (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=324741.msg15581723#msg15581723)<br><strong>Date and Time:</strong>&nbsp; Monday, July 20th, ~10:00am<br><strong>Where:</strong>&nbsp; Helene's Cafe<br><strong>Tagging:</strong>&nbsp; Ramon<br><strong>Open/Close:</strong>&nbsp; Ask first?<br><strong>Wearing:</strong>&nbsp; A plain, soft green tee (https://www.bellacanvas.com/bella/product/large/300100081_3.jpg); dark wash jeans; sneakers; and an analog wristwatch<br><strong>Content Warning:</strong>&nbsp; Reconnecting<br><br>Speaking to Ramon, at this moment, was like peeling away a layer. Marc watched the man's face, witnessed the melting of the attorney front to reveal a semblance of the boy he used to call a friend. There was a magic to the moment, and he didn't toss that word around lightly. As much as he used the Spanish words to chip away at the crack Ramon had revealed during their greeting, he felt a release in his chest, like a key unlocking a door he had been, until now, only vaguely aware of. He couldn't let go of the cynicism, not completely. It was hammered into him by this point in his life, and he suspected there would still be defenses, and bumps, but Ramon returned the sentiment, and Marc could breathe easier.<br><br>They stepped to the counter. Marc was sliding his card back into his wallet when Ramon retorted the comment on his height. Some things didn't change. Marc felt the smile in his cheekbones. Returning his wallet to his jeans pocket, his attention was on Ramon again. He saw the extended finger, knew it was going to be just a playful poke, but as skin touched skin, he felt the Marc of High School Past come back to haunt him, the sudden self-consciousness like a gnat in his brain. It was strange, because the innocence of the action didn't compare to the open flirtations he received from a few men in New York.<br><br>But he couldn't dwell on it now. He willed away the stiffness in his muscles, somewhat thankful for the barista's reappearance, or else Ramon's comment might have hung between them seconds too long to be comfortable. "Being transformed into a killing machine paid off," Marc replied once Ramon had his drink in hand. A lopsided smirk swept across his face as he lifted his arm and flexed. Showing off typically wasn't his style, and even now the bravado was lowkey, but he felt an itch to move more than just his feet. Those did their own thing, carrying him back to the table.<br><br>Getting Ramon to sit down with him was only one hurdle. That was the way he saw it, but there was a naturalness to the situation now, and a strangeness. They weren't boys anymore, dreaming about a future that once seemed far off. They were middle-aged men, with jobs and bills, and maybe a different set of concerns over their physical development. At least Ramon started the conversation off easy. What else did he hate about New York? "The smell," Marc said without losing a beat. He grimaced for effect, as if catching a whiff of the garbage and piss, but the humor persisted in his eyes. He reached for his iced tea. "And how the city makes masochists out of people: every aspect of living there is like being in a sardine can; I burn through money paying for a place with three other people; the attitudes are horrible." The rim of the cup neared his lips. "But I can't picture living anywhere else. There's a constant motion. It takes resilience and alertness to survive. I like that. I can't believe you wanted to leave." A mild sarcasm carried the last line. He let it hang in the space between them as he took a sip.
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