"You goin' to Santa-Fest?" Creed asked, sitting on the hood of his car. It was a black 90's acura, with one dark grey door. There were spots of rust near the hubcaps, some of which were sloppily spraypainted black. He wore a tight black skullcap over his shaved head, a black windbreaker, and a black scarf. Nearly everything he wore was black, save for his jeans, which were dark blue, and the laces of his shiny black boots. They were white.

Lenny shrugged, zipping up his green parka. "Maybe, iunno. Looks expensive." He looked the opposite of his tall, muscular brother. He had a green jacket, brown chinos, grey boots, and an orange hunting cap. Creed's politics were less than agreeable, but at least he knew his way around color coordination. Lenny, on the other hand, looked like a homeless person.

"It's called a job, Lenny. I could getcha one if you want." Lenny began putting on his mittens, pretending he hadn't heard his brother. He knew full well what he was trying to do. "My boy Erik, you know Erik, right?" Creed said snapping his fingers, trying to think of whether or not Lenny and Erik had met. "Anyway, Erik's dad owns a sandwich shop or something, said he could use a dishwasher." Creed hopped off the car hood, letting it bounce gently for a moment. "And you know how I feel about honest American jobs being taken by honest Americans like us, Lenny-Boy."

Lenny swallowed the knot in his throat, nodding. "I'll think about it." Creed chuckled, and patted Lenny on the back all-too roughly.

"That's what I like to hear, killer." Creed smiled his nearly trademarked smirk, somewhere between self-assured and menacing. "Say, you should give your dear old brother's car a jump before you leave." Creed popped the hood, and nodded towards the engine expectantly. "Just go steal some juice from the stove."

Lenny sighed silently to himself, and obediently trotted into the house. He pulled off one mitten, stuffing it into his pocket. He made his way to the kitchen, cursing the mountains of trash he had to walk over. It made the house all the more cramped. Still, it was a house. Creed acquired it for them a few months ago, and on such a low rent. An [i]impossibly[/i] low rent. All because he told the landlord to do it. It made Lenny shudder thinking about Creed's powers, and so, he didn't. It was on the opposite edge of Courtwall, further from the ships and factories, and closer to other actual people. And it meant his grandma wouldn't be confined to one room, so, it was all for the best.

Lenny turned on the stove, listening to the low hiss of the fire for a moment, before putting his hand over it. He watched the tiny orange flame dissipate into his hand, spinning upwards into his palm like one of the tiny tornadoes you'd get from spinning a half-empty water bottle. It didn't burn him. It was warm, but definitely not burning. After a few moments of this, he turned the stove off, and walked back outside. Creed was already in his car, impatiently rapping his knuckles against the open door. The hood was still popped, and so, Lenny carefully examined the inside. He placed his hands on the battery, and exhaled. A loud electric popping was heard, and the engine revved to life. Accomplished, Lenny closed the hood, and flashed a thumbs-up to Creed. "Can I get a ride to the coffee place?" He asked, putting his other mitten on.

Creed nodded, and Lenny climbed into the car, riding shotgun as always. He buckled his seatbelt, and the two brothers took off.

---

Lenny opened the doors of Mean Bean Machine, and swiftly walked in, hoping to get out of the cold as quickly as possible. He took off his pink mittens, stuffing them back into his pockets. He stepped in line, watching himself on the security camera display.

[i]Meeeeean Beeeean Machiiine.[/i] He said to himself. He was easily amused, and the name seemed to roll off the tongue. [i]Mean Bean Machine, it's always so clean and pristine, like nothing you've ever seen. It's where teens get caffeine, into their blood-stream.[/i] Lenny continued quietly muttering to himself, trying to think of something else that rhymed with machine.

"Sir?" The barista asked, raising an eyebrow. Lenny was at the front of the line. Startled, Lenny stammered out "Small coffee". The barista nodded, tapping keys on the register with her long fingernails. "That'll be two dollars and twenty eight sense." Lenny reached into his pocket, pulling out a handful of change. 

"Ten, twenty, thirty, fifty-five, sixty-five, seventy..." Lenny continued counting, as the impatient line behind him stared holes into the back of his head. "Dollar eighty, dollar ninety, ninety two, ninety three," Lenny's face clearly became more and more nervous, as he dumped the rest of his change on the counter. "One sec, I think I've got some more somewhere." The barista sucked her teeth, and began counting the change, as Lenny looked hopeful that she'd count more than him.

"You're still short, sir."

Lenny cursed under his breath, desperately trying to find more change, as the guy behind him began tapping his foot. "Um, uh, shit, hold on, I have it somewhere."