16492/Finding the Sweet Spot

Finding the Sweet Spot
Date of Scene:	19 August 2024
Location:	The Dark Side Bakery, Flushing
Synopsis:	Shiloh meets Al, the driver for the Sister's of Mercy, who comes to pick up a donation from the baker.
Cast of Characters:	Shiloh Foster, Spawn

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Shiloh Foster has posed:
The morning rush is over, which gives Shiloh a bit of a reprieve to clean up a little bit. Wiping down the counter, tables, cleaning the display case windows on the customer side and sweeping up a bit. Inventory of what she has left is taken and she makes a midday money drop into her little safe beneath the register. Coffee left over is poured out so she can brew a fresh pot, and every other little thing she can think of to keep herself busy while waiting for straggling customers or people who want to come in for a midday pick up.

Then there's pulling out the finished batches of bread, cupcakes, and cookies that are finally finished baking - which means that for the moment she's actually in the back setting things up on cooling racks to finish in a little bit once the items have cooled down. No one likes melty runny icing after all. At some point she's also turned the music up on her radio, the sounds of Exit Eden - a gothic rock opera band - blasting their cover of 'Total Eclipse of the Heart'.

Spawn has posed:
Early morning is a strange time for the Hellspawn. He doesn't really sleep but he is weaker in the daylight, even if "weaker" is still strong enough to do things reserved for creatures of cosmic origin. It's not so strange for Al, the guy who drives the "Bludhaven Sisters of Mercy" delivery and pickup van. The vehicle itself is not very new, the white paint on the panels is rusted off in places and pitted around the wheel wells. The stenciled-on logo of the good Sisters, on the sides of the van, was applied pretty recently though, and the van's plates mark it as belonging to someone in Bludhaven County, New Jersey.

Al pulls that van up by the curb outside the bakery, positioning it so the back double-doors are close to the storefront's main entry, then hops out and moves around the back to open the cargo doors and pull out an old cargo dolly with a squeaky wheel. The black man himself is average height, very athletic build, with a tight fade and a well-shaped and well-groomed goatee. Now he heads for the bakery's front door, pushing the dolly ahead of him with a shrill "skree" sound emitted by the one wheel about every other second.

Shiloh Foster has posed:
If the chime on the door didn't alert Shiloh to the entry of someone, the squeaky wheel of that dolly surely did. She comes out from the back and offers Al a friendly smile. A glance towards the door to see the van and the logo on the side gives her most the information she needs as to who he may be. "Good morning! Welcome to The Dark Side. I take it you're here for the order of sweets and breads for the Sisters?" It's a new thing. The bakery hasn't been opened for too terribly long, but the London-born has made a name for herself in a short span of time. Word of mouth as well as some wonderfully planned arrivals to music festivals and artsy things in Central Park among other places.

The music on the radio continues to be a selection of what may be described as 'Angry Girl Rock' as Heaven Knows by The Pretty Reckless begins to play. "I can go gather up the order for you... I just need.." She leans down below the register and comes back up with some paperwork which she sets on the counter. "Just your John Handcock there on the X'd line so we can get the order billed. Do you want a cup of coffee or anything while you wait? On the house, of course."

Spawn has posed:
"Billed?" Al asks, stopping halfway between the front door and the glass display cases. He sets the dolly up straight and looks a mix of confused and disappointed as he leans his forearms on the handles. He stands there in his t-shirt, a simple brown with a full-color portrait of that universal image of Jesus poised to knock at a door, with the nametag that reads: "HI! MY NAME IS:" in bold printed text with the name, "Al," scribbled in the larger white space underneath, and what look like black denim jeans. He's clean, definitely not one of the homeless that the Sisters cater to, but not rich and probably not getting paid for doing the pickup.

"All I have is a receipt book for donations," he says next, his deep voice tinged with embarassment. "I don't think whoever you talked to understood that you were *selling* baked goods. I don't think I can even legally sign on their behalf, if it's for billing."

Shiloh Foster has posed:
Shiloh mentally takes about five steps back and shakes her head. "Oh bollocks. I didn't mean billed...I promise. No this is absolutely a donation... Billed was a generic term. This is just for my write off purposes along with the receipt for donation so all our books are squared away." Though she does ziiip the paper back around to make sure she filled out the right one. She didn't. "Bloody hell I'm out of my mind... Right." She grabs a red marker and writes 'VOID' in bold letters across the paper before shoving it back under the counter. "No it's fine, I didn't mean to misspeak. Let me just... grab the order..."

She'll figure out her own logistics later, and if it's a wash on her end then so be it cause she messed up but she's not about to not deliver on a promise. Likely never hear the end of it even if the bitching comes from her own mind. "Feel free to pour yourself a cup of coffee or grab something from behind the counter..." Calling that out as she disappears a moment before bringing out a few boxes. It's likely not only fully baked goods but some shelf stable ingredients as well for a couple families in need. Shiloh doesn't mind helping where she can. Nesting out on her trust fund a little longer is helping her be able to do things like this.

Spawn has posed:
Al doesn't help himself to the offered coffee, but he does tip the dolly back and push it closer to the door Shiloh vanished into. He hadn't really had time to slip a word in while Shiloh was panicking and rushing into the back room, but when she comes back with the boxed up goods he is waiting to ambush her with, "I'm sorry about any confusion, miss. I know not everybody can afford to donate. We are more than happy to sign off our receipt book for any price you ask, though, so you can donate at double retail price if you like and write the whole amount off your taxes. I know it's not the same as cash-in-hand," he trails off.

The man accepts the boxes and gets them set on the little shelf that sticks off the bottom-front of the dolly, then straightens up and continues to stand there. "I'm happy to sign your pick-up order, if that's what you meant," he adds. "And I'm really sorry for the confusion."

Shiloh Foster has posed:
"It's really no problem at all. My mistake. Yes, that's what I needed you to sign. Nothing to pay or be billed just proof that you picked it up..." Shiloh offers that and has even come back with the proper form that's all filled out in official capacity and just needs a signature to prove the order was picked up as promised. It does account for the inventory she used, but that's for tax purposes when she files so she can get the break. "Oh. I'm still living off a little bit I got from my dad before I moved over here. Gotta love a man who funds his child's dream right?" Which...definitely isn't the whole story. At all. But she can glaze it over nicely and let it be that. Though an idle motion of a hand touching the collar on her neck is done - however briefly.

"Ah. Let me get the door for you... I mean... if you're in a rush to get it delivered. Or you can take a moment. Have a coffee or water and a little snack? I'm sure the Sisters won't mind and it's absolutely on the house." Otherwise this is just a drop and run and then Shiloh is likely going to be back to her day of random walk ins. "Honestly, the confusion is my fault, so I am terribly sorry for it..."

Spawn has posed:
"Just let me pack this up and grab my book," Al answers, flashing a smile full of bright white teeth. For the moment he snags a pen that's clipped to the collar of his tee, leans over to sign the pickup order Shiloh offers him, and then grabs his dolly by the handles and squeak-squeak-squeaks it back out the front door. The boxes get quickly offloaded into the van, then the dolly gets slid back into the cargo bay, and then he steps around the passenger side to grab a simple handbill book before he heads back inside.

Once he's back in the bakery, receipt book laid on the countertop to steady it while he presses hard enough for the pen to mark through the three carbon-copy pages of each bill, he finally addresses the offer of coffee: "I want to thank you for your hospitality, ma'am, but I have trouble with a lot of food. Everything is, uh," he has filled out all the line items on the handbill, then turns the booklet around and sets the pen next to it so Shiloh can fill in the dollar values per line. "Well, something like a special order. Not trying to be anti-social, just avoiding discomfort."

He lets a moment pass for that to sink in before he asks, "How's this neighborhood for a small business? Low crime, decent police patrols, homeless problem?"

Shiloh Foster has posed:
Shiloh nods and watches as Al takes the order out to the van, cursing herself still inwardly to have made such a blunder. Still, when Al comes back, she's all smiles. As he discusses his issues with a lot of food, she nods her head. "Oh not a problem. Just chalk it up to British manners. Never let someone into your space without offering them a cuppa..." She laughs a little and then motions. "And since I live upstairs anyway... this whole space is like my home so..." He also wouldn't be the first to get a free drink or even sweet treat here and he surely won't be the last one who gets offered such.

"Ah. Well. Crime actually isn't so bad around here that I've noticed, but that doesn't mean I don't keep things double locked - especially the outer door to my apartment upstairs. But it's been fairly decent. Being a stones throw away from Central Park helps too, cause people throw festivals and music gatherings and such...and I've joined a few of those. Plus, I've managed to have some...uhm...pretty high profile people come in for orders so... I can't say it'd be the same for anyone else... I just happen to rely on word of mouth and my business cards." And if there was a homeless problem, she doesn't notice it, or she's helped it out a bit and isn't going to play heroine to that story. Plus....

"Might have even heard tell that there's a few nightly patrols by some unnamed folk who help keep this and a few other areas a bit safer..."

Spawn has posed:
Al had listened to Shiloh's answer, watching her face as she talked. At some point he had slipped his thumbs into his jeans pockets and let his big, muscular hands dangle at his hips while he relaxed into a comfortable stance.

"Oh, sure," he answers the question of the 'unnamed folk' and cracks a crooked grin at the phrasing of it. "Vigilantes, aliens, mutants, the whole nine yards. Some less unnamed than others, eh? I was more interested in recent events. You know a lot of crime never gets reported, out of fear of both the criminals and the police, and the vigilantes can't be everywhere at once. I'm just curious, you know, about the different places I visit every day. Sometimes the worst place to live and work is the last one you'd suspect." The very last statement has a dark undertone, nothing really qualifiable except that he says it a bit quieter and with something dire in his tone.

Shiloh Foster has posed:
The last place Shiloh was to experience any 'recent events' was Gotham. And while the cities share a border, it's likely the last place someone would expect a woman like Shiloh to be. Unless they learn she was the one in the shadows what flicked a knife into someone's wrist to try and disarm them. Then very quickly and quietly left. She's a little miffed about the lost knife, but those can be replaced easily as well. "I haven't heard of anything recently happening around here. Unless there's something you're eluding to that I may need to keep an eye out for?"

Like gangers with a thirst for revenge.

The last statement he makes is less what he says and more how he says it. Especially when he keeps such a casual stance and look about him but his voice goes quiet and dire. "I like to think that I can keep myself safe enough. The shadows can be a bit of a dangerous place, but I happen to like walking through them anyway." Then she laughs. "I happen to know a couple mutants. Maybe one meta-human. Never met an alien before, but then again, I hear they blend in rather nicely with the rest of operable society..." An idle hand reaches to touch at her collar once more before it slips to brush fingers through her hair as if in one fluid motion.

Spawn has posed:
The Hellspawn would know if he was standing in the presence of that knife thrower, for sure. That monster might see with its eyes, but it sees a lot more that even most super-humans don't even know is possible. Al? Al's just a fit, good-looking guy who volunteers at soup kitchens and homeless shelters.

"Picked up a massive donation from a mutant-owned nightclub last week," he answers Shiloh's recounting of her acquaintances with a smile. "Most of the people who show up to our meal service haven't eaten so well in years, as they did that night and the next. They'll really appreciate the pastries too, you know? We don't usually get real baked goods, just that mass-produced and individually-wrapped stuff... and usually about the time the convenience stores would have thrown it out, so it's not much better than if the guys dug it out of the dumpster."

He looks away from Shiloh to have a good look at the bakery interior, mostly eyeing the posters on the walls.

Shiloh Foster has posed:
Shiloh smiles softly. "You know... I could probably put together some sandwiches for the Sisters next time. I fresh bake my bread daily and it wouldn't be too much to grab some stuff to put together sandwiches. It's...probably not the best meal they'll ever have...but it'd be filling and there's something about a sandwich on fresh bread that can just be...comforting." Offering that much. Something Al can pass along to the Sisters. Shiloh could even offer more than - but she chose bakery as her main profession - though along with the posters on the wall are her degrees from Oxford for both Culinary and Baking Arts.

There's no way for her to know that she could easily be identified as the one who threw the knife that night. The fact that he's not the hellspawn right now likely saves her from that as well. But she's not the kind for ill intent. A vigilante who takes the law into her own hands in the middle of the night and still wakes up to bake chocolate cupcakes the next morning. "I get it though. I hope the treats bring smiles to their faces. Everything was baked fresh, of course, and I included some shelf stable supplies that the Sisters can pass out to some families in need." Adding that in before watching as he looks at the posters, a little smirk turning the corners of her lips. "You a fan?"

Of Star Wars. Obviously.

Spawn has posed:
"Not a fan of anything," Al answers almost instantly while he continues to study the sci-fi posters. "Saw the first round of movies when they came out, but only saw the titles of the new ones on the theatre marquee." In case you're familiar with the release dates and can perform simple math without a calculator, Al looks about thirty years old.

He drags his eyes off the bakery's decor and turns them back on Shiloh. "The sandwich offer is really nice of you, but you don't have to contaminate your prep surfaces on our account. I'm not trying to talk you out of making a donation," his grin at that is wide, "but if you want to do that then why not just swing by the shelter sometime and use their kitchen facility? Most of our customers won't know lobster bisque from chicken soup, but it'd save you a lot of cleanup!"

Shiloh Foster has posed:
Shiloh raises a brow. "No. I can't believe that. How can you not be a fan of anything?" Asking this because she simply cannot fathom that being a fact about someone. Though when he says he saw the first movies when they came out, that has her giving a few blinks. Course, this could mean a number of things. Maybe he's a mutant, meta-human, alien, or someone who just doesn't age. Maybe it's Benjamin Buttons! She's not going to question it. Not now anyway. "The new ones... well the ones that were meant to be the beginning of the whole Saga were... meh... but the last three were alright..."

Then the conversation moves back to food and she smiles. "Oh, I hadn't really considered that. I might just do that then. But I might also bring my own bread to use as like, crutons or a side of toast with the soup. People need to eat. It's like a basic thing. I hate that so many aren't given the opportunity really..." Then again, she's seen the other side of what can become of the homeless. The desperate. It makes her give a slight shiver. "Anyway. Uhm... Don't suppose you want to leave those goods in the back of your van for too terribly long..." A pause. "Not that I'm...kicking you out just... the Sisters are likely waiting for you and all that..."

Spawn has posed:
Al's smile remains while he gives a short nod of his head to Shiloh, and then he turns to head for the door. "Thank you again for your generosity, miss!" rings out over his shoulder. "God bless you!"