1965-01-22 - Hard Day's Night 2
Summary: One severely pissed off faerie godmother and her do nothing charge don't see eye to eye. In fact, her charge is slovenly, deceitful, and doesn't even study magic. Such a comedown compared to his blessed mother. So a Fae curse to clean up his mess takes hold. Sadly faerie dust is light and not very discriminating. You're going to work to make things right… Unless you can convince an Aes Sidhe to undo her mighty glamour, you are Cinderella until dawn.
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Theme Song: None
jay kaleb lucian 


It's been a hard day's night,
And I been working like a dog.
It's been a hard day's night,
I should be sleeping like a log.
But when I get home to you
I'll find the things that you do
Will make me feel all right.
— The Beatles

One severely pissed off faerie godmother and her do nothing charge don't see eye to eye. In fact, her charge is slovenly, deceitful, and doesn't even study magic. Such a comedown compared to his blessed mother. So a Fae curse to clean up his mess takes hold. Sadly faerie dust is light and not very discriminating. You're going to work to make things right… Unless you can convince an Aes Sidhe to undo her mighty glamour, you are Cinderella until dawn.

09:00 PM. Mario's Pizza. Brooklyn.

Outside there is a candy apple red Mustang pulled up to the curb. Parking spots are hard enough to find on a cold, wet night. Least of all when the warmth of a pizza oven is the very sort of thing to attract the young set. A young man bounds out from the driver side and pulls his long greatcoat around him tightly. "Brr! Couldn't take me anywhere nice, could you?" he spits out at no one. He makes it maybe ten steps, almost to the door, stretching out an arm. He's so close to reaching it, hunked over, eyebrows stooped down. So very close when…

"Millefoil Pius Barnabas Plovington-Hemmerington! Stop!" The whipcrack of a woman who can wield middle names like a showman with a ten-foot length of leather at the centre ring radiates out. Everyone younger than forty ought to be shuddering, checking their collars, their cuffs, and their stomachs for crumbs. Haste sends the man of the lengthy moniker yanking the door open and he darts inside, like it will stop.

Because it honestly looks like Ann-Margret has come to scold him, a lovely woman of about thirty with strawberry blonde hair piled up, a camel coat, a look of high dudgeon about her. "If your blessed mother…"

Kaleb was with Jay, because that's how bros roll, and was on their way to get pizza among the 'unwashed masses'/ Notthat Jay was letting Kaleb call them that or peons or peasants or simply just the help and 'worker bees' was sometimes questioned and screened for intent. But lo, among those people that work for a living to make them food they did go. That voice was sharp like broken glass and even Kaleb who oculd exceed any finishing school marm's tight scrutinty with absolute ease had to sto p and really think about that, standing up straighter and focusing his attention to the woman giving someone an earful. "Jay is… is that your mom?" because one had to ask.

Jay went with Kaleb because even Kalebs needed a good walk every once in a while. And since the great death-summer of '64, Kaleb Marshall Miller was not allowed out of the apartment without the name of the person he was with written down on a slip of paper and co-signed by either himself or Kellan. Like a library book. A library book with a really fashionable jacket, designed by prada and given holy blessing by Frank Sinatra himself.

The rock-bohemian angel-imposter at the twin's side heard the string of names and feathers bristled lightly, as if he expected someone to demand he goes to fetch a switch. A faintly nervous smile flickered in Kaleb's direction, turning more sympathetic when he eyed the young man in question, Jay shook his head. "No, but she sure is someone's by the sound of it." Crimson feathers rise, tremble a moment, then slick down again to his back.

Is Maximus' name countersigned with Kellan's scribble suspiciously timed to moments when Kellan is, in fact, out of the borough? How droll. The records are a rather simple form of security, and perhaps inferior to other methods. Like gorgeous women clutching their Hermes handbag in one hand, looking utterly incensed right down to her cupid bow lips pressed together.

Barney, as he'd prefer to be called by anyone and everyone, practically dives for a booth. He seizes a menu and knocks over the salt. A white line sprays across the shiny tabletop, caught in the sticky drops of marinara sauce. "Nooo," he mutters, ignoring anyone else except for the picture of a pepperoni pizza drawn in cartoon on the bent laminated screen.

Anyone inside is probably staring because the strawberry blonde modelesque woman walks right up to the front door. She sighs. "Is it too much to ask that once, just once, you try to pick up your things?" Maybe she's his older girlfriend. Her eyes crackle, and the kerchief around her neck wobbles as her chin lifts. "A spark of prestidigitation? A cantrip for cleanliness? But no, you… cower… there behind salt?" Anger is present as she points one imperious finger. A ring shines on it, peridot in a band of rose-gold. Run.

Kaleb was legit signed out with a chaperone in case Kaleb gott wrecked, stolen, scratched, breathed on wrong… a pigeon could shit on it! Who knows? He was beginning to empathize with Ferrari that belonged to Ferris's friend's father some day. Hands stayed in the pockets of that smart navy peacoat following into the pizzeria. His expression was pinched and finally those unsympathetic eyes looked to the guy, "Hey, fella, you're makin a mess. I know htis is New York but we like to treat her with respect, buddy." Every now and then Kaleb's riled inner New Yorker comes screaming out of the gate to defend the pride of his city. Come at me, Jersey boy!

It sucks being loved, Kaleb. Mourn and lament the day that you made a friend. Teach you.

Jay is certainly watching the woman walk inside the building. mostly because of a deeply ingrained sense of self-preservation and partially out of curiousity. Maybe a little bit of interest because, hey, she was pretty. Entirely out of his league and with an attitude, but good looking. Whatever she did to have Barney hunkering down like that had to be worth watching for.

Blinking back between Kaleb and Barney, Jay tilts his head, curious, then reaches out a hand to tap his best friend's elbow. "Relax, Kaleb, it's jus' a little salt. Just make sure t' throw a little over yer shoulder, raght?" The last spoken with folly and humor over the old addage, offering a smile to the young man. Stilled when the woman comes up to his table and gives him that exasperated tongue lashing.


The red-head sinks a little back into his seat, eyes widening as he looks surreptitiously toward Kaleb with an unspoken, 'What the hell's goin' on /there/?'

Ann-Margret's prettier sister looks at the heap of salt, and the sulking wretch behind the menu. She might have x-ray vision to see through it at Barney. Disappointment, anger, and pique older than time melt together. Anyone schooled in their lessons about Grimm faerie tales knows what comes next and it's nothing good.

"I'm out for a pizza and you're cramping my style. Can't you go somewhere else, Auntie Nia?" he mutters. "I'm meeting a girl."

She sucks her breath in through her teeth. The air cools around her slightly. Then 'Auntie Nia' spits out, "Clean up the mess you've made here." Imperative slams behind every last word, the air ripe suddenly with the scent of warm grass and apples, trickling honey and hot pavement. Whomever Auntie Nia is, Nia is probably a moniker… and help them all if that's Titania, or one of her other get. The strawberry blonde Aes Sidhe invokes her will with all the twisting lines of promise and fealty. A puff of dust drifts over the poor man. It carries on the heated currents blown by the poor labouring furnace. It goes out the door when someone opens that. Oops. Everyone in blast radius is struck by the finest layer.

|ROLL| Kaleb +rolls 1d20 for: 8

Kaleb arched an eyebrow just shaking his head at the young man. "Really of all places you would meet a girl at you choose here?" He indignantly pulled a napkin then three more from the holder. Was Kaleb going over to give him a piece of his mind, and he did but he was… brushing the salt into a napkin and off the table. "Buddy, you have absolutely got to step up your game. The last thing you wnat to do is sit a lady down at a table covered in crumbs. Wer eyou raised in a barn?" He looked to Jay with a haughty nod, "Present company excluded."

"It's not so bad a place," Jay murmurs, not precisely defensive, since the fondness in his tone feels as warm as the scent suddenly blooming through the pizza place, taking over the smell of garlic and marinara. Before he could stop him, Kaleb was walking in that direction and…was Kaleb…cleaning? He was. He was touching someone else's mess and cleaning it up, and Jay was entirely confused by this happening. Almost too confused to notice the nod and exclusion. "Oh, yeah, well, Ah mean, Ah was, so…" gently cheered, Jay took no offense and found himself coming up on Kaleb's left side to try to pull the bundle of napkin out of his hands. "Lemme get that for ya."

So very nice a place. Look, it just needs a good wash in there. That's what the fifteen people in the crowd probably think. Staff and public customers alike have only to lift their heads and look around. Is that a napkin out of place? There's an empty dispenser of parmesan cheese over there. The linoleum is spotted grey from melting snow tracked in.

"Um, where's the janitorial closet?" asks a mousy girl, hiding behind her hands and blushing. A server points to the back corner, behind a barricade of stools. Poor Millefoil. He does his best to try to sweep up salt while the insensate fae glares at him. Possibly not the brightest bulb, he smartly snaps into action by using another napkin. He grimaces.

Outside, three of the dusted, unfortunate souls spin on their heels and begin picking up trash because you need to do that.

Kaleb found himself, haughty as ever ant rightly mistakable as his own butler right now withhte excellent posture, well tailored clothes, and coiffed hair. WHat he didn't know was how to actually use any of these things. Brisk steps carried him back to a trash bin to drop off the napkins and he jarringly took a broom from someone nearby, eyes locked on Jay first. He said simply, "I said present company excluded. I have reason to believe your mother has excellent manners." Was Kaleb.. randomly jabbing the broom at things? It looked less like he was sweeping and more like he was trying to write his name with an enormous paintbrush. He looked to Aunt Nia, "Do we even know anyhting about this young person he's meeting? I'd ask if I were you." Was he giving advice to the Sidhe!? What wa shappening here? Not a lack of manners on his part. "Lovely to make your acquaintence, m'am."

His friend snarking at him is nothing new, though Kaleb stomping off when Jay reaches out to take the napkins from him /is/ unusual. Obnoxiously doting, Jay strides after Kaleb, on his heels while the slick twin swiped a broom from someone and started just jabbing the bristles against the floor. Wings bobbing and flexing lightly behind him, Jay reached out and tried to take the broom away from Kaleb now, tapping the backs of Kaleb's hands with light fingers. "C'mon now, drop it. You doin' an advice column now, Kale?"

Everyone else around them were snapping to, sweeping, mopping, dusting, wiping down and Jay was just…following Kaleb around, trying to take things away from him. Not that Kaleb had a hair out of place or had a speck of dust on his suit that got through his impenetrable glare-shield, but … Kaleb was Jay's mess to clean up. Whether it was a coffee machine about to go in the trash or a broom being punished for being a broom, Jay doted and corrected the world to Kaleb's, erm, special needs.

In the janitorial closet are all the supplies not being used: two brooms, dustpans, a mop with a bucket. They have two telescoping rods with big fluffy dusters, plus short dusters in a pile. Shelves are crammed with paper towels and industrial cleaners in pink, green, and blue! Cyan Windex sits right next to something covered in fourteen dusty YUCK! labels that probably is highly caustic and would melt Jay's feathers at a distance of eight feet.

Aunt Nia crosses her arms. Someone wants to question her and not get to cleaning? The fae magic flutters down upon them, demanding, the law of the universe a greater power to be encountered. "Charmed," she says, probably not. "I care not. He will clean up before he begins any dalliances or rolls in the hay."

Outside, there are now a pile of people trying to jointly scrub the poor, sad bus bench.

|ROLL| Kaleb +rolls 1d20 for: 14

Kaleb looked at the broome in hand and to Jay frowwning as it was being arrested from him. Then… confusion!? He looked to Auntie Nia witha short, but polite nod and looked to Jay jsut bewildered "I don't even know what this thing does." He was so compulsed, and so utterly deficient in domestic skills. "Why aren't we calling the people that do these things!?" Why wasn't… he? It wasn't that he was disinclined to help, it was just this was not his medium. He looked ot the squirly man withthe salta nd just pushed his will in words to levy suggestion on to the guy, a guidance that was not turned by superstitions, effectual or non. "Take this broom, get the salt and dust *off* the floor with it and get it into that trash bin." The words were direct, clipped and cold as if they were not there to be negotiated with but where, perhaps, the suggestion to save that man's evening. The broom was thrust out to him. Directing? Yes he could do that. He clapped his hands, "Top down folks. Dust is falling start at the trim and get these walls cleaned up."

"Well, if you think that would help, that might be a good idea, Kaleb," Jay encourages the calling of MORE people to clean the pizza place up. Because that doesn't sound terrible. "Many hands make light work, y'know?" Encouraging Kaleb to order others around wasn't a terribly good idea, Jay, but the idea of getting the place spick and span that much quicker seemed brilliant.

Each playing to their strengths, Jay's wings shivered, shedding dust in a cloud which settles on Kaleb's jacket. No emergency trips to the closet for him while Kaleb is playing management. He pats hurriedly along his friend's sleeve to shed the dust. "Oh, no, no, no, that's no good. Kale, take yer jacket off. We gotta clean it off. They gotta have…like…oh! A dishwasher. They gotta have a dishwasher 'round here, right?" Light fingers already on Kaleb's collar, trying to shed him out of his pinstripes.

Auntie Nia takes her leave of the pizza place, largely because people need to clean the spot where she stands. She understands the need. After all, is she going to deny anyone from the task she set them to perform? No, that would be callous. She is mildly pleased by the activity swirling around her, the straightened picture frames and the chairs put together, a bad attempt at mopping taking place between two people who haven't wielded a bucket with soap in something like six years. It sloshes over Kaleb's shoes, that water, but at least it's warm and colourfully spotted by all the chemicals under the sun.

Look at that, a brush! Someone offers it in case Jay needs to fix up a coat. See, they're all nice.

|ROLL| Kaleb +rolls 1d20 for: 19

Kaleb looked around witha critical eye. Some might say he was born for management but really he was just very good at being bossy and had a fair mastery of order of processes. subtly he was quite content pushing his will to making people DO THINGS as that came naturaly. What he couldn't get over was why he gave any shits at all. He looked to one kid, "You what's your name? Know what it doesn't matter. Good job on the trim. I need you to start on the picture…frames." Then water sloshed over his feet with chemicals that were not intended for Italian leather, but also, he somehow reasoned, was also no worse than the salt on the sidewalk. He looked to the woman withthe bucket and moved the napkin holder, "You can detail those too." He slid his jacket off to Jay and tiredly asked, "Why are we here? Oh yes that poor woman." Was he…sympathetic to the Sidhe? But of course he was. "Jay do me a favour, keep an eye out for whom is doing a really good job… I may want to see about keeping them on retainer." He was still warring withthe other half of his brain going 'why are we standing in a soapy puddle!?'

The distraction of Jay mother henning Kaleb, and the Miller man conducting a chorus of individuals hellbent on cleaning the pizza parlor, like a lazy wizard's apprentice and his army of mops; Jay doesn't even notice Auntie slipping out the front door. Jay flaps Kaleb's jacket a couple times and folds it smoothly over his arm just as soapy, chemical filled water sloshes over his shoes.

Oh no! And Kaleb! Nope, nope, nope!

Jay grasps Kaleb by the waist and very neatly lifts him up with the flex of the farm-boy's superior strength, depositing his sonic's feet on the nearest bench seat, standing Kaleb upright over the rest of them.

You know, he really needs to stop putting Kaleb on a pedestal. "Towel!" Jay barks and turns his head, snagging one of a half dozen white towels that are flung in his direction out of the air so he may start dabbing Kaleb's shoes off. The other cloths pelt his wingsone catching on a feathered appendageand fall to the floor around him to soak up the water.

Everything looks well and good to Auntie Nia's liking. She snaps her fingers. "That will do." She makes the announcement in bold, strident tones, ringing off her parted pink lips. Satisfied with the work that she sees, she turns away and says, "Your date wouldn't be impressed with you, anyways. She prefers nice men with brown coats, like that one over there."

Such a terrible note to leave on, but don't piss off your faerie godmother.

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