Now Desire reassured himself for the tenth time in just as many minutes that he was NOT being a creeper or a stalker or anything malicious. He was simply intrigued by someone, not that that was anything new. His curiosity was piqued quite often in the city by a myriad of things from sights to smells to sounds. It was just this time he planned on doing something about being intrigued by a person. He'd never had many opportunities to do anything beyond trolling for a drunken one night stand, he was the epitome of exotic with sun kissed skin and purple tabby stripes, pink and purple hair, and dark catlike eyes. His colorful ears and tail blended in with his hair and he looked like a dream made reality. Even the scar on the right side of his jaw and neck didn't detract from his charisma. He was good looking he knew, in his worn jeans dragon age t-shirt and leather jacket. 

He garnered some interested looks in the ten minutes he'd been here waiting for the person of his curiosity to show up. He ignored them of course as he sipped on his iced macchiato. If this was a bar it'd be so much easier. He thought to himself as he rested his chin on his hand. Bars were familiar places to him but that was a place for picking up a single night with little to no talking. It'd help relieve some tension but that was not what the half egyptian wanted.

Conversation was the name of this game. He wanted to get to know the cutie who frequented this coffee shop, see if he was as cultured as he appeared and sounded. Des might be from the south and sound like a hillbilly but he was extremely intelligent and liked a wide variety of things. Sure he was an performance art nerd but he'd read up on philosophy, religion, and studied multiple languages (and could out curse any civvy in most of them because being a sailor did that to a person). So a smart cute guy was right up his alley. Now he just had to find out if he could pull off charming. A task with an unknown outcome.

Hopefully if the cutie came today he wouldn't get coffee poured on him and the police called. That was the bar Des aimed to jump over. Low he knew but considering his luck it wasn't a far fetched possibility.

I’m late, I’m late, for a very important date!

I have to run, hello, good bye, I’m late I’m late I’m late!!

The words ran through his mind like the white rabbit through the hole to wonder land. He checked his watch, confirmed it, uttered a low guttural obscenity, and entered the coffee house.

Yeah. He was late. He could be later. August was not about to endure scathing criticism about his lateness, or his soon to be lateness (read, deadness) without some sort of caffeinated beverage. Preferably with chocolate. So what if it went to his hips? It was worth every ounce.

The place was packed. A good gaggle of people. His eyes scanned over the crowd. Quite a line. Several humans, some notable mutants (this was New York), and at least one person who was a true freak. Because they were wearing denim jeans and a denim coat, and most assuredly, denim underwear. Of that, he had no doubt.

He cursed again, then stopped himself as his pocket started to vibrate. August had received a text message. His brow furrowed in irritation as he read the thing.

Practice cancelled. Conductor has bad stomach problems. Sorry, C U tomorrow!

It was from one of his friends in the group. Surely, the conductor himself would shoot off a cancellation text next to confirm this lifesaver of a friend’s audacious claim. And yup, sure enough.

The conductor’s text was far more professional. It did not allude to any of the messy business ‘stomach problems’ made August think of. It merely had details.

Part of him was a little mad. He had been late, dammit. But not absent. The guy had the audacity to cancel due to a little explosive— he shook that thought and cast it elsewhere. No, this was good. Sure, he would have to change his plans for the following day, which was a massive pain in his ass, but at least he was going to remain alive after 11:00AM on this lovely Wednesday.

‘It is Wednesday, dudes.’ He thought wryly. And, yeah, he was dressed for it. In black jeans, with a black belt that had an oversized gothic gargoyle on it. And a black button up with white buttons and a white collar, black leather jacket over the whole mess. He looked like what you would have gotten if you had tried too hard to emulate Christina Ricci’s famous character from the Addams Family, for a male. Although males can most certainly wear a short black dress and black tights, if they do so desire. But he had wanted to look professional enough for concert violinist work.

His posture loosened, and he shifted the strap on his shoulder. His violin case hung against his back. Part of why he had been late had been that he’d left it upstairs in his apartment, and had needed to go back after walking 100 feet, just to bring the thing he needed most in the world... up until coffee had reasserted its claim for the title.

Okay. Well. Now he had all the time in the world to just stand in line and wait. He settled in for the long haul, behind a man with pink and purple hair.

Goddamnit he'd finished his first cup of coffee too quickly. Now he had to get more without looking like a creeper. That was today's goal, which Remy had laughed her undead ass off when he told her that. Really he set low bars for himself to jump over for today but they were attainable bars in his mind at least. He had confidence in himself in a great deal of areas but dating...well he'd read lots of romance books and comics so he had a rough idea of how the real world would work. He wasn't searching for his one true love today he was looking for a conversation. Because conversations were the building bocks to getting kisses from a guy who hit a ten one Des' hot guy alert.

Getting up he made sure to plop down his less valuable belongings on the table he had claimed and got up. Only stupid people would try to take his place now. The two armchairs and little table would be safe or else he'd give one helluva stink eye to any brave enough to cross a former SEAL's plan on....

Oh sweet baby Jesus he was here.

Des hadn't caught a glimpse of his cutie but he could identify the scent. It was close, so very close taking a quick peak behind him proved to be both good and bad. Good because it confirmed the fact that the cutie was here, bad because he was suddenly very nervous. Smacking himself internally Des began to think of a plan.

A beautifully flawed plan but a plan nonetheless.

Getting to the counter Des pulled out thirty dollars. That should be enough right? It had better be because if it wasn't it'd be highway robbery and Des wasn't chill with highway robbery.

"One iced caramel macchiato 'n a piece o' coconut cake 'n then use tha rest ta get tha guy behind me a drink 'n a baked good if he wants. Tha change from that is yer tip." Des said smoothly chancing a look behind him to then smile charmingly at the cutie behind him. Daddy always said to woo with kindness and Des was going to take those words to heart.

Standing now off to the side since his order was placed Des hoped that the cutie would come talk to him.

How were his sports teams doing? His stocks? He perused his various apps, glancing up now and then as the line moves like clockwork, tick tick tick. Finally, he was up next. He chanced a glance up at the person ahead of him, right as they glanced back at him.

Their eyes locked for a split second. August returned the smile, charmingly. Then, he dropped his attention back down to his phone.

Sadly, he had been so self absorbed he had entirely missed overhearing what the man ahead of him had said, about the money and the buying him a drink. His smile, then, had not been one of gratitude, or even one of flirtation, but rather due to the awkwardness of happening to meet a stranger’s eyes when he had least expected it. And then been smiled at. And what are you going to do, when a stranger smiles at you? Stare? The smile made more sense to him when he finally reached the register, and made his order.

“That fine cat man over there said your drink was on him, and a muffin or whatever...” The young blonde barista smiled sunnily at him, and bounced her hair. “And that whatever else was left, I would get as a tip!”

August smiled thinly at her. Had she been calling the cat man fine like (foooooine), or had she been calling him a fine person? A rather upstanding citizen, pip pip, cheerio?

The thing here was, she wanted the tip more than she wanted him to be happy with the situation, or for ‘fine cat man’, whoever he was, to get his money’s worth. So she had blabbed about it with zero filter, and made him paranoid. Coming from a family like he had, becoming paranoid is hardly even a basic stretch. It’s like standing up in the morning, and sliding into a pair of warm fuzzy slippers. Comfortable.

He pressed down a ten, and made his order. Mocha. Blueberry muffin. Got it as quick as you can say ‘forced smile’, and let the woman pocket whatever differences there were for herself. He even let her keep the change. Because it is important to reward bad behavior. But to mess with her, as he told her to keep the change, he flickered his fingers in a rapid, yet stealthy, hand gesture, and said: “Don’t spend it all in one place, you hear~?”

There. Now, she was hexed. Cursed to have to find as many possible places to spend the money in as was inconvenient for her time... or something. Maybe he had just been feeling catty. Speaking of cats...

He turned, and scanned the area for sign or tail of the cat man. Found him. Raised the muffin bag in a little salute, and gingerly sipped his coffee as he started walking that way.

It would be rude to ignore the mutant who had attempted to buy his food. For his efforts, he had at least bought a moment of August’s time.

Might be interesting, he thought. The other mystics always turned their noses up at mutants, but they could at least be useful or entertaining. And they were people. So whatever. He didn’t really jive with their anti-mutant rhetoric (Felt kind of hateful.)

“Thanks,” August said. “For the coffee.” And because his brain could at times take pleasure in his discomfort, he felt the sudden compulsion to add: “I like your ears.”

Well shit he hadn't won the attention of the cutie. That was a reflex smile not a flirt smile. Was he too mutanty for the cutie? There really was no hiding the fact he was one, it'd be like trying to hide Waldo in the artic. Not very feasible unless visibility had turned to shit. Oh well if the cutie wasn't interested there was no way Des was forcing the issue. He could be a good boy when he wanted to be. Taking his drink and his cake he went back to his seat with all the grace of a professional dancer. Which he sort of was at this point.

An amusing thought that the Mad Cat of the SEALs had turned into a dance instructor for impressionable children. His old CO Captain Anderson must be having a field day trying to explain that one to others. Where most retired SEALs took on mercenary jobs or went into the CIA or FBI, Des decided to say that he was done with that. Sure he wanted to eventually become an XMan and help protect the kids but he also knew he needed a bit of a break.

Moving his bag off the table Des then settled his coconut cake on top. He loved coconut and had first stumbled on this coffee shop just to eat the cake that had five star reviews and several key smash descriptions. The cake was good, almost as good as his Memaw's but not quite, he really was coming back regularly because hot damn there were some fine men who frequented this place.

Eye candy was good but he tried to be subtle about it, he watched other people too and idly wondered what their lives were like. He liked making up stories to go along with various regulars. What had caught his attention though was, in his own words, the coffee shop cutie. There were no stories in his head about him, just an appreciation of his figure and mannerisms. He seemed to be elegant and intelligent, two things Des found very appealing.

Today was just his day of courage, to try and initiate contact. Which he had fai-

Wait the cutie was coming over.

Cue an internal screech of happiness at doing something semi right.

A warm and brilliant smile flashed over Des' features when the cutie came over and began to speak to him.

"Yer welcome." Des tilted his head in acknowledgement and couldn't stop the faint flush spreading on his cheeks. Compliments were good. "Thank ya." Keeping eye contact with the cutie Des gestured to the open armchair across from him. "Would ya like ta sit down? I've seen ya around here a couple o' times 'n have been wantin' ta meet ya. My name's Desire but most people call me Des."

With a name like desire, how could he refuse? He sat down.

This could be an interesting conversation. Could at least kill time.

“Been watching me, huh? Guess I should be flattered.” August said smoothly. There was no paranoid tinge to the words, no coldness at all! A perfectly passable comment.

“Nice to meet you, Des.” He was not saying the name Desire. Some people have limits, and that was a line he would not at present choose to cross. “My name is August. And you’re in luck. I had been late to practice, but they cancelled on me and now my afternoon is all wide open.”

That hasn’t sounded desperate, now had it? Because he was only being friendly. An open afternoon, for conversation. Obviously.

The bal was back in Des’s court. How would they respond?

He casually sipped his coffee, and extracted the muffin from its baggy. He should have grabbed a tiny plate. Things were about to get crumby.

"Well yer handsome." Desire stated that as an absolute fact. He was in new territory here trying to flirt with a guy without the intention of immediately going to bed with them. "Ya also seem elegant. It's been fun watchin' ya interact with tha world around ya." He threw a warm smile over to August, his tabby ears perking forward to better show his attention was focused on his conversation partner.

People almost always had problems with his name. It was almost as bad as being a boy named Sue but not quite. At least he had a decent set of nicknames to go with, Des for most people, Dizzy for family, McGee for almost every military acquaintance he had. "August, what a pretty name. It suits ya."

"What do ya play?" Des gestured with his fork to the case near August genuinely curious about what August did. Taking a bite of his coconut cake he smiled a little to himself. It was delicious as usual. "I work as a dance instructor at a private school." He offered willing to share information with his conversation partner. He knew he didn't quite look like the usual dancer with his obvious mutations and height. He was also just a little more tightly muscled than your average dancer, it wasn't hard to conclude Desire did a lot of working out to keep his body in that sort of shape.

It was also interesting to see a dancer willingly eat cake and sweetened coffee. They could be as picky as a model or pop star about calories. Des was just graceful as he ate his food without hesitation. His manners speaking of at least some basic etiquette training.

So he was handsome, was he? Well, that person sure had confidence to just come out and say it. Did august have an ego? Why yes, yes he did. Was it big? As big as his head. So, humongous. He made a note to keep this Des around.

Yes, tell me about how I am handsome. And elegant? What unique phrasing! August returned the smile.

Maybe he had been a tad cautious and brusque at first blush, but if mr “I’ve been watching you, yer handsome and elegant” wanted to call him handsome and elegant, certainly he couldn’t be all bad.

Elegant though? Was he? Did he have a grace and gravitas? What makes one elegant? On a normal day, he might have said “laying it on a bit thick, huh?” But not today.

Today, his name was pretty and it suited him. August bowed his head slightly. “Thanks.”

He took a sip of his coffee, then set it down on the table along with the rebagged muffin. Now, he did not want to become a crumby person in front of Des. The muffin could wait.

He extracted his instrument case, and extricated the violin from within. The instrument was beautiful. Now THIS was elegant. The dance instructor would most certainly be able to appreciate the violin.

“I’m a violinist,” he explained. “For a New York orchestra company. Second chair. Dance instructor, huh? That must be fun. Imagine you have to go around and keep up to date on all the new dances hitting the clubs. I do love clubbing.”

Maybe he was not a great dancer, himself. He had a lot of energy and ambition, but coordination, elegance, he often lacked. That did not stop him from having a good time.


“Which school?” He thoughtlessly added. “My family might have donated to it.” Whoops!

If August asked Des would try to describe elegance to him. It was something that was hard to put into words even though Des could spot it from across a room. He'd learned early on how people with culture moved, he had competed in dance competitions and had held decent positions in ballet recitals. Different people from different social classes moved in different ways. It was hard to mask what you'd learned since birth and Des could only mimic the kind of elegance August had. What Des lacked in elegance he made up for in grace.

"Yer welcome." Des had been taught to compliment people in a way to try to win them over. It had just only backfired when Des was too honest, creative, or straight up catlike in his attempts. He was pleased his compliments had gone over well.

With wide bright eyes Desire took in the violin with genuine appreciation. It was a well loved instrument, a high end one too if Des could guess these things accurately or not. He didn't reach out to touch, because Des knew he could occasionally be a a disaster on legs. Not that he was a klutz but he would freely admit to being weirdly attracted to disaster. Not that he was thinking August was a disaster or anything of that ilk, it was more he was a man who when drunk did attempt to attack laser pointer lights. A fact he should never have admitted to his undead roomie because she had juuuuuuust had to see if he was telling the truth. A bottle and a half of moonshine later with a heavy dose of catnip and Des had been making a fool of himself for Remy's amusement.

"It ain't easy ta have enough talent 'n dedication ta get ta second chair in an orchestra company in a a city with so much talent. I'm impressed." Des paused as he took a sip of his coffee and he nodded his head. "I go ta all sorts o' clubs 'n dance halls ta keep up. I make 'em inta fun times by doin' a nice dinner before dancin'. If ya would like ya could come with me fer this week's dance date? I was plannin' on goin' ta a steampunk bar club place I'd heard about 'n see what kind o' dancin' people did ta electronic swing."

Des had just shoved a piece of cake into his mouth when August asked which school he taught at. Swallowing quickly he grinned. That thankfully wasn't a difficult or shameful question to answer. "I teach at tha X-Mansion. It's a school fer mutants so I dunno if yer family would donate to it or not."

>> It ain't easy ta have enough talent 'n dedication ta get ta second chair in an orchestra company in a a city with so much talent. I'm impressed."

August nodded matter-of-factly, but he did not dig in on the topic. Did not try and milk it for more bragging rights. Truth was truth. And truthfully, he would have been more proud if he were first chair. Ego, yes, but ego built on gravitas. Not unfounded supremacy. Ahem.

He smiled, mildly.

And then he got asked out. Oh my.

He played it off cool and said “I think I might like that.”

They could talk details later. Steampunk dance club sounded cool. He figured he could find a suitable suit and top hat. Goggles might be an issue, but…

Who was he kidding? He probably had an entire outfit in his closet already. Halloween was his favorite holiday, after all.

Des taught dance at the x mansion. A mansion for mutants. Yes, he had heard of it. And no, he doubted his parents would have donated to such a prodigious academy.

“Very well might have!” He lied cheerfully.

August set his violin back in its case for something to do. Closed it up and put it away. It was muffin time.

He turned his attention to the muffin and other things.

“So. Steampunk huh? Do I need special goggles and a top hat? What will you be wearing? Don’t want to overdress.”