11521/=Spiderman recommended the hotdogs.

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=Spiderman recommended the hotdogs.
Date of Scene: 09 June 2022
Location: Central Park
Synopsis: Hot dogs, meetings, and ice cream
Cast of Characters: Gabby Kinney, Yelena Belova, Cheyenne Brawley, Jacob Walker, Naria Shepard




Gabby Kinney has posed:
Today was a momentous day for Jim's Hotdog Cart: Because his son Jim Jr. was opening his own cart so they could branch out the business over multiple locations! Today was the first day, the Grand Opening, so father and son have set their carts up side by side to vend to their loyal patrons. Balloons decorate each cart but more than anything it's the BOGO deal on dogs that is helping lure people in toward the delicious smell of a genuine New York dawgs being served.

Jim's was the hotdog stand that Spiderman had once recommended to a much younger Gabby and his was the cart she always enjoyed stopping by. Dang sure she was here for BOGO dogs and to welcome Jim Jr into the biz in the process. The hungry teen bounces energetically in line waiting her turn while practically drooling in anticipation. Okay not literally, thank god, but she IS already waiting with a fistful of bills ready to go. "Chicago dog? Coney Island? Ooh. BOTH."

Yelena Belova has posed:
Yelena Belova has not been in America for too long and a great deal of that time was spent in solitary confinement at a SHIELD facility somewhere in REDACTED. Still, now that she's allowed out and is repaying her debt to international society, in her own unique way, she has discovered one of the things she loves most about America is hot dogs. Sausages are a staple food, of course, but the unique appeal of the hot dog, its ubiquitousness, its cheapness, its versatility, all of them are close to Yelena's dark heart.

She's in her best All-American wear, a pair of jeans and sneakers, along with an I <3 WIENERS shirt, her blonde hair pulled back into a sporty ponytail. "I am favoring a Los Angeles style, with the guacamole," she says as she takes her place in line.

Cheyenne Brawley has posed:
     1.6 ounces of kosher beef on a six-inch bun, sauced with coarse brown mustard and draped in a mixture of spiced, caramelized onions and saurkraut - X2, because it's buy one, get one free - the classic New York hot dog, or so Cheyenne Brawley is told. Seated on a park bench with the sandwiches perched on his knee, dressed in a snazzy all-black, three-piece suit, he gazes at a narrow, glass-and-steel monstrocity that casts a long shadow over the great lawn, with an expression of marked disapproval. "Doesn't even look like anyone lives in there..." Several paper napkins get unfolded and stuffed into the neckline of his shirt. "What's on a Coney Island?" he calls to the bouncing teenage girl, FOMO written on his face as if in words.

Jacob Walker has posed:
It's the first time Jake's ever spent any length of time in New York, though he's passed through it any number of times. Jake's got just enough sense to not gawk like a tourist, but he's eminently content to wander along in the Park, seeing what there is to see. He's in a blue work shirt over white t-shirt, faded jeans and old boots, hair neatly tied back.

The spectacle of the balloons and the lines is enough to have him ambling that way in no particular hurry. Surveying the scene as if he isn't entirely sure that he'll join the queue, he's caught in a double take at the sight of Cheyenne. With a grin, he says, "Making nice with the natives, huh, Buster?"

Gabby Kinney has posed:
Gabby Kinney glances over toward the blonde Yelena with a broad grin at her particular dog-decision. "Oh, I haven't tried that one before!" There's a little pause as she considers it looking again at her wad of cash considering. There was more than enough there should she want to give it a go, but...

"I think I'll stick with the classics for today though. I don't think I've ever had avacado before so I'm not sure if I'd like it." Having made her decision she steps up to her place in line forking over her money before stepping to the side while the dogs are made up. The rather snazzily dressed Cheyenne earns her attention at his question. "Oh! It's got meat chili, cheddar cheese and lots of white onion on it. That's the classic style at least, I've seen some with jalapenos and mustard too."

Yelena Belova has posed:
Yelena Belova nods, "I had not either for long time, but is very good. Creamy and spicy with peppers they put in it," she says, her Russian accent strong. She turns towards the men as Gabby's attention goes that way and she keeps her face as blank as can be.

"Is Harley Davidson and Marlboro Man. I saw that movie once. Which is Don Johnson?" she asks, drawing a few bills out of her belt and handing them to the hot dog man.

Cheyenne Brawley has posed:
     "Oh heeeey buddy," Cheyenne beams as Jacob comes sauntering nearby, "fancy seeing you here. I've been busy all day sampling the Big Apple's finest quee-zine," he says in a strong Texan accent. "For lunch, I had some of Katz's Deli's finest brisket pastrami." Eyes narrowed, he waggles his brows, mouth set in a thin line. "Ain't got nothing on Franklin's barbeque brisket in Austin, I tell you what." One of the dogs is selected, inspected as if with a jeweler's loup, and he goes in for the kill. "Not bad," he says between chews, before turning his attention back to the kiddo. "Basic chili-dog, gotcha. But something with a little whack-a-mole sounds good." His gaze returns to Jacob, and he cocks his head subtly to indicate the Russion. "Hear that? Harley Davidson..." Another bite, and he adds just loud enough for the Carolinian to hear: "Man, I met the strangest gal today. She had pink eyes and blue hair; and she just popped outta nowhere. Totalled some ol' boy's car just like that. Kept going on about cuttin' and shootin' cattle, with some kinda death ray, or somethin'." He shakes his head, as if to say 'New Yorkers...'."

Jacob Walker has posed:
"Sorry, man," Jake says, with an utter lack of actual contrition, "I like Carolina style barbeque best, though Austin's got some of the best for Texas anyhow." Like he's making a great concession in even allowing that much. "Sounds like you've got this trip off to a good start." He's got a drawl, as well, but it's distinct from the Texan's twang - lighter and lazier, almost sighing.

Perhaps to be contrary, he elects to get a dog plain save for mustard. Yelena's comment has him raising his brows at her inquisitively. Not yet a subscriber to the New Yorker's code of determinedly ignoring strangers until you can't. "Which is which?" he asks her, directly. "I mean, I ride, but I've got an old Ural, not a Harley. Harleys....well, they're more about the image than anything else now."

A tilt of his head for Cheyenne's comment. "It's only gonna get stranger from here on in, I'm sure," he notes, tone philosophical. "It's Austin you're from?"

Gabby Kinney has posed:
Gabby Kinney has to consider the remark about it being a classic chilidog for a long moment. It's taken in strider, no New Yorker pride-rage here about it. If anything she didn't really sound like she had an accent for a New Yorker. Or... Or for anywhere, really. If 'Transatlantic' was still an accent that might be the closest she had, if anything, but even that wasn't quite right. It was more just 'hyperactive babbling' most of the time.

"I guess it is just a chilidog, but I think it started at Coney Island?" It's a guess, really. Her attention shifts to gather up her chilidog and her Chicago which was topped with tons of relish and jalapenos. Yelena, Russian though she may be, gets a grin. "Oh that does sound good. And I saw that movie, too," she has to admit glancing at the pair of tourists thoughtfully. "Well the Texan smokes cloves so I don't think it'd be him for Marlboro. I dunno. I've got a Honda Trail. Unique and useful bike," she supplies before taking a big honking bite out of her dog.

Yelena Belova has posed:
Yelena Belova shrugs, "Texan, Californian, Floridian, all you Americans sound alike to me," she says, taking a few bites of her dog as she perches herself casually on top of a bench nearby, resting her feet in the seat and her bottom atop the back.

"I may do the chili yet," she says. "Is good park. Hot dogs, kids playing, dogs. Muggers are weak and pitiful and easy to kill. I like it."

Cheyenne Brawley has posed:
     "No, I hail from the bustling metropolis of Fritch, Texas; population: a whopping 26-hundred. Town's only claim to fame is a comedian, a jolly ol' drunkard by the name o' Ron White; well, and yours truly, I suppose." He makes a mental note to have it out with Jake about the 'merits' of vinegar and mustard on shredded pork. Having finished his sandwiches, he gets back in the queue. "If it's motorcycles," rhymes with ice cycles, "you're talkin', the best you're gonna find is Triumph, unless you wanna ride some Japanese crotch-rocket." He snorts and rolls his eyes. When his turn comes, he gets two LA-style dogs, with extra wack-a-mole, and pays with a neatly folded fifty. "Keep the change," he tells little Jim, and helps himself to a seat on the bench claimed by Yelena. "What are the muggers like in Moscow?" he says with a grin before stuffing his face with green dog.

Jacob Walker has posed:
"Don't think I've ever seen that one," Now it's Jake's turn to examine his dog, but it's not all that skeptically. Then he takes a bite, before wolfing down a couple more in quick succession. Visibly stopping himself before he asks Gabby, "Not familiar with it. What's it like? Urals are based on German scout bikes from the second world war. They're tough as hell, and the only bikes I know of where the sidecar wheel is a drive wheel. You can off-road with 'em, even ride 'em in snow. Took mine over the Continental Divide in winter, once."

Yelena's comment earns her a sidelong glance, a pause in his chewing of that next bite. Perhaps ninetynine percent sure she's joking to pull someone's chain, but.... "That a hobby of yours?" he asks, tone gone teasing.

Gabby Kinney has posed:
Gabby Kinney clucks her tongue lightly at Yelena's remark. "You can't go around killing the muggers. It'll disrupt the natural habitat of New York or something." Pausing in her hot-dog downing she reaches out to snag a few napkins to actualy wipe her hands down trying to be neat. The talk of motorcycles causes her to grin broader though.

"Triumph's are cool but a bit big for me so far. I know someone with one." As for her own? She tips her head toward Jake considering how best to describe it. "Kind of like a cafe racer mixed with one of those delivery bikes. Maybe leaning a bit more toward 'delivery bike', but it's got off-roading tires so it's good for rough ground as well as the streets. Lots of cargo room."

A broad grin comes as she adds quickly, "The Ural sounds cool though. I know some people that were in WWII." Relatives? Grandparents? Who knew.

Yelena Belova has posed:
Yelena Belova finishes off her dog in just a few quick bites. "Just joking. Hilarious Russian joking. Ha ha, I am funny," she says.

"Russian muggers are desperate and, of course, Russian, which automatically makes them twice as dangerous. Russians never give up. We are tenacious, like starving dog with bone. Except bone is your wallet. Not mine. And I have given up killing, officially. I am good girl now."

Cheyenne Brawley has posed:
     "I have my doubts," Buster says just under his breath, in response to Yelena's remark, then adds to Gabby, "Oh? Who's that?" before turning to Jake, "Who did you bring in your sidecar while motoring through the Rockies, bud? Someone to keep you warm, I hope. Come on, now. Story time." Mouth + hotdog = yum.

Jacob Walker has posed:
Jake can't help but snicker at Gabby's retort to Yelena. He's considering her description of the Trail. "I think I can see it," he muses. A slightly crooked grin for that. "Yeah? Me, too. Got plenty of kin who fought."

Cheyenne gets a rueful look at that. "Nah, man. I use the sidecar for gear. That's all the vehicle I got, and let me tell you, camping your way through the Rockies in winter is no fun at all." He shrugs, and then finishes the dog in a few neat bites. "I mean, it'll vouch for the kindness of strangers, but...nothing scandalous, I'm afraid."

Gabby Kinney has posed:
Gabby Kinney polishes off the rest of her chilidog. It results in a little messiness from the chili, but a quick lick of her fingertips followed by a few swipes of the napkin cleans her up properly. That just left dog numero two. The sampling of the finest dogs New York has to offer pauses in favor of offering Yelena a solemn, knowing nod. "It can be hard but it's worth it. Yay to no killing!" And she offers the Russian an extended fist to bump.

Cheyenne's question earns a broad grin. "My dad has a Triumph. And he's also the one that was in WWII." A small pause comes before she feels the need to explain, "He's really old and I'm his youngest, so... One of my sisters got me the Honda last year."

As Yelena heads off to do her thing she regards Jacob curiously due to his own talk of the Rockies, and Cheyenne's questioning to see how he responds, or if he does. It gives her time to take a bite of the Chicago dog which she chews thoughtfully.

Cheyenne Brawley has posed:
     "Aw Jake, buddy, I know you're holdin' out on me, but I understand why, too," Buster winks at Jacob and lets out a long sigh, rapping his belly with both hands. "I reckon four is enough for me, but I could do with something sweet." He stands and stretches, "Y'all wanna come? Do a little walkin', burn some hotdogs off of our buns," he says then looks to the New Yorker in particular "Where would you recommend, for a lick o' ice cream or somethin'? My treat."

Jacob Walker has posed:
Jake's cleaning himself up as well, though he glances up quickly as Gabby reveals that it's her father. "That so, huh? Long-lived. Has he said where he served? What units he served with?" He paces over to drop the napkin into the trash, but his attention's still very much on her.

Buster's ragging him, and Jake snorts. "Nah, man. Hell, even if I were with someone, I wouldn't subject 'em to that." A shrug, and he adds, "Could do with something to drink, myself."

Gabby Kinney has posed:
Gabby Kinney looks between the pair while finishing off the last of her dog. The crumpled up wrapper and napkin are aimed toward the trash with a nice little hook-shot that she lobs in that direction. It bounces, and then bumps right in earning a little, "Aww yiss," from her success.

    he offer of sweets though? How could she resist that? Grinning broadly at Cheyenne's offer she bobs her head eagerly. "Yeah! I know a ton of places around here. Ice cream good for you? Or there's this fancy cake shop that serves Russian honey cake which is Oh. My. God. Delicious. Might be a bit heavy after hotdogs though," she reasons almost as soon as she makes the suggestion to begin with. Desserts were serious business after all. With a gesture she waves the guys to follow her. "Let's start your New York dessert tour! I'm Gabby by the way," she finally offers recalling to give her name. "Nice to meet you both."

Tipping her head back toward Jacob she can only shake her head a little. "He doesn't like talking about it a lot, but I have met some others he served with. It was a group called the 'Howling Commandos'. Apparently they helped Captain America out or something like that."

Cheyenne Brawley has posed:
     "I scream for ice cream, Gabby, but y'all are welcome to whatever y'all want; and I'm Buster." As Gabby replies to Jake, he looks over his shoulder at the other man and furrows his brow with a 'huh?' expression. "THE Captain America?" he says to her with pursed lips and impressed nod, but then goes on, "Come to think of it, sug," as in sugar, "your daddy must'a been," he scans the teen over and does math in his head, "at least eighty when you were born. Huh." He looks back at Jacob and offers a playful slap on the shoulder with the knuckles of his fingers, "Maybe there's hope for us yet, pard!" On the way by, he wads his paper trash into a ball, misses throwing it into the recepticle despite being a few inches from it, pauses to pick it up and throw it away a second time, misses yet again, growls, and forcefully shoves it down into the plastic bag with a harumph.

Jacob Walker has posed:
"Don't make no nevermind to me, up to y'all," More than content to amble along behind this pair of Pied Pipers. Better that than another evening at home, anyway. At the introductions, he says, "I'm Jake, and it's a pleasure. I'd offer to shake your hand, but considering I haven't had a chance to wash it after that..."

That unit name makes that little furrow reappear between Jake's brows. "What's your daddy's name?" he asks. "And yeah, they did. In all the newsreels they were." Cheyenne gets a snort. "Hope? For what? Havin' kids? No, thanks. I miss bein' married, but...well, it'll take a lot to get me back into the bonds of wedlock."

Unthinkingly, he takes the tobacco pouch out of his pocket, then remembers his company and stuffs it back again.

Gabby Kinney has posed:
Gabby Kinney pumps both fists into the air which ends up turning into a little stretch as she clasps her hands together over her head. They swing freely back by her sides after that. "Ice cream it is!" Now the question is, which icecream shop? She at least seems like she knows where she's going. Twisting around on the ball of her foot she starts to walk backwards to speak to the pair with a grin.

"Pretty sure he's older than that, maybe. His name is..." It's here she falters, her own eyebrows drawing together with a little frown that causes the scars on her cheeks to crinkle in the process. "Actually the name I know him by isn't what he was called back then according to my oldest sister. I call him Logan, but she says we're Howletts."

Jacob Walker has posed:
Now Jake's expression of puzzlement is well-nigh comical, as he peers at Gabby. He all but pauses in his stride, abruptly enough to nearly make Cheyenne trip. Whatever momentary brainstorm disperses, and he picks up the pace again.

"I 'magine he'd have to be, to have a child at that age. Howlett..." The name doesn't seem to ring a bell, and he shrugs. Back to that easy stride.

Cheyenne Brawley has posed:
     "No holdin' out on me again, now," Buster says to Jake, just loud enough for him to hear, this time with a curious, semi-solemn expression, "what was that little caniption fit about?"

Gabby Kinney has posed:
Gabby Kinney twirls back around before she ends up tripping over her feet from walking backwards. The conversation had been going in a direction she didn't know as much about as she would like so Jacob's curiosity wasn't something she could solve, sadly. "Yeah, my brother Jimmy is named after him, pretty sure. Anyway, yeah, he's old as dirt. Runs in the family to be long lived, apparently." This last is added when she passes through the gates to the park out onto the city sidewalk, gesturing with a broad sweep of her arm.

"Ta da! Icecream!" Indeed there's an icecream shop right across the street. Likely this was one of the reasons why Jim's Hotdogs liked to set up there, because it meant they could point people toward something sweet after.

Jacob Walker has posed:
He looks momentarily sheepish, before admitting to Brawley, "Reminded me of something my grandfather used to tell me about that war. But now I can't bring it to mind." A grimace, and Jake admits, "My own war did kind of a number on my head, so my memory is not at all what it used to be."

Then he's darting forward to try and save Gabby from a tumble, but she's got it under control, and he steps back. "You got a favorite flavor here?" he asks, before lifting his chin a little and sniffing the air. "Sure smells good."

Cheyenne Brawley has posed:
     Buster shakes his head slowly, hands poised on his hips. 'Holdin' out on me' he mouths silently, then sighs. "If they have pistachio, I'm giving you a gold star, Gabby." Striding to the front of the line, but aside the cashregister so as not to cut in front of customers, he beckons a manager over and hands her a folded stack of cash produced from a pocket inside his jacket. "Get everybody whatever they want, on me." Then he takes a couple quick steps to a booth by the window and slumps into a bench seat as if he were sliding down into a cool bath. "God bless air conditioning."

Naria Shepard has posed:
A flash of light, a streak of neon blue sweeping in a comet over the city making its way across central park...only to come to a stop, materializing in for form of the neon bluenette that is Rave! Dressed like she was headed to her namesake, the young woman comes to a stop behind the group, clearly seeking a little icecream of her own.

With the glowing locks and luminescent eyes it was fairly clear she was some sort of mutant or metahuman, but the girl was making no effort to hide as she moves forwards.

Gabby Kinney has posed:
Gabby Kinney laughs warmly while she cozies up to the icecream bar. Or at least moves over to the side to view the flavors there contemplating. "I'm still kind of deciding what icecream I like best. I didn't get to have any when I was younger. So far I really like mint chocolate chip, and this lavender blueberry," she admits with a gesture to the flavors in question. While they had the 'classic' ones here they also had some rather inventive flavor combinations, like Riesling Pear and Peanut Butter Thai Chili Pepper. A grin is flashed over toward Cheyenne. "Yeah they have pistachio, too," she assures right before losing her train of thought at Rave's arrival.

"Okay that was kind of cool."

Jacob Walker has posed:
Lifting his hands as if to fend off the suggestion that he's not being entirely forthcoming, Jake assumes an exptression of innocence. "I'mma keep telling you," he warns Buster. "You keep flashing that money around, you are gonna get robbed, grateful as I am for the treat." He grins again, rather wanly. "Just imagine growing up in the South before air conditioning."

He's turning towards the case to contemplate his choices (mouthing "Thai Chili Pepper?" to himself in incredulity) only to glance over just in time for Rave to make her appearance. He's startled enough to stumble back a few steps, bumping into the case and nearly slipping. "Jesus!" he says, staring at her until sense catches up to the rest of him and offers the suggestion that it's rude to stare, even when someone looks like that.

Cheyenne Brawley has posed:
     "Somebody tries to rob me, pard, they'll..." Blinking, stunned by the azure flash, Cheyenne gazes at Rave with his arms outstretched, palms up in a whiskey-tango-foxtrot sort of way, jaw hanging slack enough to rest on his collarbone. A glance flits to Jacob, back to Rave, and back to Jacob where it stays. "Hot damn, cuz, this city is insane." He stands and ambles closer to the bluenette with a broad, goofy grin on his face. "Howdy ma'am," he says to her, taking off his ballcap long enough to ruffle his sandy curls, before replacing it all askew a la Gomer Pyle. "How did you DO that?"

Naria Shepard has posed:
Hands folding behind her back, Rave seemed content to wait her turn...at least for a little bit, but the sudden greetings and questionings of how she'd managed her arrival has the young woman laughing and shrugging her shoulders. "Oh, I'm kinda a neon rainbow of awesomeness," she offers lightly, as if that were an explaination in itself.

"One with a craving for icecream."

Gabby Kinney has posed:
Gabby Kinney feels her phone buzzing in her pocket and quickly withdraws it to read the text. "Shoot. Gotta go, stuff at home," she says with a sigh. "Nice meeting you guys! Enjoy your icecream!" And then she's off jogging out the door at a quick clip.

Jacob Walker has posed:
Apparently, it's only just occurred to Jake that Buster might have abilities of his own. Certain conversations make considerably more sense now. "Yeah, you are not kidding," he says, fervently. More content to hang back and let Cheyenne attempt introductions.

"Oh, well, clearly," he says, voice gone dry. A wave for the departing Gabby, but he's sufficiently distracted that the cashier needs to prompt him for his order. Rocky Road it is.

Cheyenne Brawley has posed:
     "Well, m'lady rainbow o' awesomeness," the fellow with the Texan accent says, "m'name's Buster, and this feller here," he gestures to Jacob, "is my good buddy Jake. Ice cream's on the house - have whatever you like." Gabby receives a parting wave, "Alright, don't be a stranger..." he trails off and reclaims his seat, waiting to go last, though he is eyeing that pile of pistachio hard. "Are you with, uh, one of them outfits?" he asks of Rave, still beaming.

Naria Shepard has posed:
Gabby's departure is payed little mind, after all Rave didn't really know her, but Jacob's comment just earns a little grin and a light wink before Buster's introduction and offer of Icecream combined bring a raise of her eyebrow. "I'm Rave," she offers lightly, gesturing to herself before the question of 'Outfits' brings a tilt of her head. "You mean the 'groups' of costumed heroes?" she questions lightly before stepping up to the counter. Strawberry it seemed was her treat of choice tonight, even if blueberry would have been far more on theme.

Jacob Walker has posed:
"Pleasure, ma'am," Jake replies, with a little inclination of his head. No offer to shake hands, he just got handed that cone of Rocky Road. There's an impish look in his eyes, as he notes to Buster, "Isn't that kinna a personal question to ask a lady you just met?"

He steps aside and finds a seat near Cheyenne. "Come to think of, how do you even join one of those groups? Is there an application process?" Still amused at the thought.

Cheyenne Brawley has posed:
     Buster deflates, and blushes a bit, as his faux pas is pointed out to him. He lifts his cap, ruffles his hair, and replaces it, bill drawn low to shroud his eyes. Standing, he addles over to the counter, cowboy boots clacking on the tile floor of the shop with each step, and returns with the biggest helping of pistachio anyone is likely to have seen. A scoop about the size of a baseball is shoveled into his mouth and he makes a low mmmm sound, before watching Rave's face, intently curious as to her answer to Jake's inquiry.

Naria Shepard has posed:
Question artfully dodged with a little shrug before she claimed her own scoop, happily tasting it lightly before grinning. "I think generally people get approached by someone, you can't just go marching into the hall of justice or anything like that." Rave turns back and moving at normal speeds to find a spot to lean and indulge in her treat.

Jacob Walker has posed:
"You must have a hollow leg," Jake teases, grinning again. There's no malice in it, though. Buster's a target for gentle ribbing. Not that Jake himself isn't putting that Rocky Road away in quick, deliberate bites.

Rave's answer has him making a thoughtful little moue. "Makes sense," he says, chuckling to himself. "Guess it's like college ball that way." A drip of ice cream is getting away, and he turns the cone hastily to lick it up. "Otherwise they'd have to have a receptionist and guards just to keep away the wanna-bes."

Cheyenne Brawley has posed:
     Buster's expression turns dark. He leans back in his seat, drawing the bill of his cap further down, pensively stroking the point of his beard. "Yeah. You're right, buddy. They want folk to earn it." Staring at a spot in the distance, without really seeing, Cheyenne Brawley ignores the mound of green bliss in front of him, grey-green eyes grown just as icy cold. With a loud sniff, and a wipe of his lips on a paper napkin, which he brutally twists and casts aside on the table, he abruptly stands. "Catch you later, cuz." He offers a limp, half-hearted wave to Jake with a few fingertips and stalks out the door, boothells ringing with purpose.