Post by Emily on Sept 22, 2015 10:45:27 GMT -8
CAST: Miriam Roth (ignafatua@aol.com), Will Byrne (inkbynumbers@aol.com), Alice Clare Donovan (wreckedships@aol.com), Abaddon Bell (onereaibadman@aol.com)
SUMMARY: Will confronts recently down-and-out quadmate Miriam about the tone of her social media content and we discover that her dying mother's parting gift to her was the truth. Or at least part of it.
TW: mourning, death
[Will] He probably wasn't too high up on the list of people that Miriam wanted to see, recent events and tirades considered. Will just kind of stared at her from across the cafe for five or ten minutes, fighting the urge to chew on the inside of his bottom lip. Open wounds and acidic beverages are never a bright guy's ideal combination, and it never matters how much soy milk you pour into coffee, it's still coffee. The stuff still eats away at your insides. Maybe that was why he liked it so much. Or maybe he liked it so much because he grew up in Starbucks Land. Who knew? Oh, and you know what else eats away at your insides? Things that come out of your mouth in moments of hyper-irritated masculine posturing about the father you always thought you had, out there, somewhere, but never hoped in a million years you'd ever find. Things that you should probably apologize for. Eventually, he did it. Not the apology, of course. He forced himself up out of one chair and after lazy, lanky strides, the lumberjack hipster dropped down into another. No hi, no is this seat taken, just Will and his stupid beard and his stupid plaid flannel button-down, putting his terrible manners on display by slumping forward over his cup of joe and turning a brown-eyed glance to his left so that he could eyeball his quadmate. His front chest pocket was conspicuously vacant. "So... what's up with all the tortured emo kid network posts, Mir? Should I be worried about my razors?" You know, the ones he... shaves with...
[Miriam] Miriam had not expected Will to come over to her. In fact, she hadn't noticed him at all. She was quiet, lost in her thoughts, curled up into a ball that was too small in the corner of a booth. Legs were encased in dark gray tights, sticking out from underneath a deep red-orange dress, black ballet flats discarded under the table so she could sit sideways. There was a cup of coffee next to her, but she wasn't doing much in terms of drinking it. It just sat there, warm and steaming and ignored. So was the cookie she'd bought to go with it. When Will arrived, she looked up as though startled, the dark-eyed thing letting out a hushed gasp. "Oh!" Yeah, no, this was what she needed, totally. She needed Will coming over and reminding her of something else that was out of her grasp. But he was oddly...kind. And not snarky about it, for once in his existence. It brought the softest and smallest of smiles to a mouth curiously devoid of its usual pop of color. "I don't need your razors," she said, shaking her head. "They've probably got all your gross-ass beard hairs in it, you fucking gross-ass." Mira uncurled herself like a butterfly opening its wings. Pinned to the front of her dress, over her heart, was a small length of black ribbon, torn at one end. "I've been going through a lot of stuff, I guess," she said. Maybe it was easiest to explain the most recent. It was the most universal. "My mom died. It's why I was in New York." She had told her quadmates she was going back, but maybe not why.
[Will] Will tends to be oddly kind. Ask Ash, he'll tell you. "Better my gross-ass beard hairs than your Jew-fro pubes," he shot back, upper lip curling, silver-ringed nose wrinkling. Now, he has no idea what Miriam's pubic hair looks like; and honestly, if anyone has an anything-fro around here, it's him. Just look at that bird's nest of dark curls sitting not-so-pretty on top of a high-and-tight. Would a comb really kill you, Will? Would it? He hid a good-natured smile in his coffee cup and watched the butterfly emerge from her cocoon, attention catching on a black ribbon that he decided not to ask about. He'll ask you what'n the Hell's wrong with you, but how much detail he gets in response is always up to you. All of his snark and good nature took a tumble right off the edge of the beardy cliff that was his face with Miriam's confession. Some internal struggle or another moved behind the way he finally laid teeth into the right corner of his bottom lip. "I'm sorry," he offered stupidly. Everyone who has ever lost anyone, really lost anyone, knows that 'I'm sorry' is the very last thing someone who has just lost another someone wants to hear. 'I'm sorry.' 'If there's anything you need, let me know.' 'She's in a better place.' He'd always fought with the idea that six feet under was a better place. What made it better? The air quality? Are Earthworms great neighbors? Are the block parties off the chain? "You miss her, huh?"
[Alice Clare] It was purely coincidence that Alice Clare showed up at Joe's tonight. She had some studying to do. The library had been a bust. The librarian on staff took one look at her, and shooed her away -- that damn Donovan was not going to steal any books on her watch! Argosy, and Ophelia's judgey eyes was out of the question, and home? There was too much distraction, too much temptation, and far too much black magic she could be playing with. Not to mention torturing the recently raised from the dead tongueless Golem. So it was to Joe's that she came, arms full of books -- one swiped from the fucking library on her way out, just out of spite, she didn't even know what it was. She had her attention on the phone in her hand as she came in, thumb scrolling through some Wiki page or another, which would account for the way the blonde took steps right past the line of booths, and the two dark haired creatures who occupied one. About three steps into the future, and then she stopped; made a pivot on the dirty sole of an equally dirty red high top Converse that she'd paired with black tights, a black frilly bouncy lacy short skirt, and a white baggy tee that claimed she "Ain't No Wifey" to face the booth claimed by Will Byrne and Mira Roth. "You're back," bright blues surrounded by the smokey allure of dark makeup focused on Mira, and she squinted a little. It might have sounded a bit like an accusation, but it was more just stating a fact. Cause. It was a fact. She was gone. Now she's back. Teeth caught a bit of her lower lip, worrying against a small scab there, and Alice just stared at Mira for too long to not make it awkward, and then send a slowly sliding gaze to Will. "Hi, Will."
[Miriam] She put her head down on Will's shoulder because he was there and convenient, and because he said something kind, which she needed to hear right about now. She should have called Freya, but she was hesitant--still, somehow, hesitant. She'd call her later, she decided. After she was through with her coffee. Mira opened her mouth to say something about of course she missed her mother, and then she remembered that Will had essentially grown up without one. So she simply smiled. Sad and soft and empty. "Yeah. I miss her. She told me some...stuff, before she died." She pushed a finger across the table, collecting crumbs that weren't there. "She said I'm not hers. And Dad isn't my dad, and my brother and sister aren't my brother and sister." Why was she just up and telling Will all of these things? Why did he need to know any of it? They were things that she should have whispered to an alufiend under cover of darkness, not things you tell your quadmate in a coffee shop. Then again...maybe Will understood. When the door opened to admit one Alice Clare Donovan, she looked up at her and found herself unsure of what to think or say. Until she knew. "I'm sorry." She said it quietly. It was followed, a few seconds later, by, "Mom died over the weekend." No, she didn't really want a pity party, but she wanted to say something to her friend that she had effectively run off the last time they spoke to one another.
[Will] There was a head on his shoulder, again. That had been happening an awful lot, recently, and for the life of him, Will couldn't figure out why. He wasn't exactly, like... friend material. He had barely-there acquaintanceships with quadmates Miriam and Ash, and he'd met Alice Clare once or twice, but that was about it. Well, there was that one guy back at Cedar Creek, but did he really count? This was as social as Will had been in the better part of a decade. If he had the patience for a girlfriend -- he didn't -- he'd probably have been in the doghouse twice or three times, now, after long hairs of different colors were found on the sleeves of his shirts. Those brown eyes got real big, not just because of the head-on-the-shoulder thing, but because Miriam just kept right on with the confession vomit. "She... what? Are you adopted, then?" It might have been a thing they could have had in common! Except that people don't adopt damaged, darkened teenagers, do they? No, they adopt sweet little babies that they get to screw up their own way. So maybe it might not have been a thing they could have had in common. That line of questioning was abruptly dropped as Alice Clare put it in a 180 and started making narrow-eyed factusations. "Hi, Al," was what she got back, followed by an open stare. "Hey, the fuck happened to your face?"
[Alice Clare] For a minute there, it was on the tip of her tongue to ask what Mira was sorry for. It wasn't that she'd forgotten the last time she'd seen her, and the verbal sparring that had ensued, but Mira had already apologized for the dig at Alice that had started that. There was no need for there to be more, but before she could say as much, Mir went on with the news about her mom. "Oh. Oh, babe." A frown melted into her expression, and since they were both on one side of it, her pile of heavy books were dropped into the vacant side -- and sorry Will, but you're about to get a really uncomfortable lap full of Alice Clare. Piled herself right in there, all bony knees and sharp elbows, to get to the brunette in the corner of the booth to give her a big hug. Probably a good thing Alice is no longer boner-getting-Ash, yeah? She gave Mira a good squeeze about the neck, and then shoved herself off of Will with more bony knees. Righted to her feet, and adjusting her tee that had gone all twisted and wonky a bit, a look of confusion was sent to Will. "What's on my face?" Bruises had a tendency to heal, and Alice Clare had an even bigger tendency to forget. But with her own touch flying up to where the cut at her temple had scabbed over, her eyes went wide like his. But they're blue, and therefore better than stinky brown boy ones. "Oh! I got kidnapped off the street, and they bashed me a good one. But I totally killed him, like with thirty seven stabs." See, the truth was much more fun than the lie of falling down the steps going to the effing train. But, even better? The truth sounded too far fetched, so .. go ahead. Don't believe her. She sent him a sunny smile, and sat on her pile of books. "You got to see her first, right?, Mir?"
[Miriam] "I don't know." Oh, she wished she could answer Will's question, she so dearly wished. Her back itched the more she thought about it, and she leaned back against the corner of the booth to scratch scapulae against wall and vinyl. Miriam knew what that meant. And it was not something she wanted to have happen here. Not at Joe's. Not in front of Will, even if he was, you know, A Wizzerd Harry. Bee tee dubs your Hagrid impression sucks, Will, try harder. "Mom said she found me, but there was no record of where I came from. Dad confirmed, there were no papers, and..." And Alice was here. She was climbing over Will, so that there were arms around her now. And you know? The girls parted on bad terms last time, but Mira's arms came around her friend and hugged her up tight and even pecked a kiss to her cheek before letting her go so that her quadmate didn't have an awkward lap full of Donovan and a shoulder full of Roth at the same time. Though maybe that was what he was into. Who knew. "Yeah," she said. "I got to see her. I was with her at the end, actually. I don't know..." She toyed with the black ribbon pinned to the front of that deep orange dress. It wasn't Halloween chic. Too soon for that. "I wanted to stay and sit shiva with the family, but I had to come back for classes. Mom would've killed me if she knew I was trying to loiter in New York when I had classes to go to."
[Abaddon] Picnic blanket turned into a suitcoat made the man look like he was ready to be laid down and eaten upon. Cool thing about it was the matching tie he found recently that had a similar red-white plaid pattern, but included a line of black ants that were pulling a pieces of pie that was part of the knotted portion. Two rows of black bugs, one heading towards the yummy dessert while the others ran off the bottom of the tie with ransacked food. The suit-coat and tie was worn an ordinary red undershirt that peeked out at his wrists, longer than the coat that seemed too short for his arms. He tiptoed into the joint with a whistle on his breath, but not noisy enough to be picked up. It was mainly played in his head, nursery rhymes about monsters from a long, long time ago. In places that actually weren't really that far from here. Ink-lettered fingers held tiny sword of wood, picking at molars while he held newspaper in his other hand and meandered about into the joint with his jedi-mind powers. Not missing a step and successfully avoiding a patron on their way out, he spun with his foot work to dodge another passing waitress. Moving about like a petal on the wind, miraculously and gracefully tilting from breeze to breeze until settling at a destination that he had never intended on making. Or only intended on making. He could never remember which. The man who's face was buried in the ol' black and white, grinned face peeping out and over the edge just in time to catch the tail end of Mira and Alice. The guy with them he didn't know, but that didn't mean he wasn't afforded that same slice of gleaming grin that he gave to the girls. He loitered on the outside of the booth, partially eclipsing the half of the table they weren't using in shadow. In the shadow of the monster. Red pants too! He wore those. Slacks, kind of looked a little clownish, he certainly stood out like a sore thumb. He was a gaudy fuck. Part of his bargain with karma, showing his colors, so he could bite without feeling too bad about it. "Hi Mira. Hi Alice. Hi you." He rose one hand and tiltedpointer finger carefully as if it was the one that offered greetings and now the monster.
[Will] Maybe that was it. Maybe there was a fucking La-Z-Boy somewhere in Will's lineage, too, hiding among all the fairy-friends and witches and wizards and what ever else Dumbledore Byrne was trying to shove down his throat. Silky coffee sloshed from one side of his cup into the other when Alice Clare saw fit to take advantage of his super sekrit comfiness, but didn't spill over onto tattooed knuckles or forest and sky that intersected at regular points on the cuffs of long sleeves. STFU, Miriam; Will hasn't had near the lifespan Hagrid's had to work on his beard, okay? Perplexion pulled the inner corners of his eyebrows down so that they were almost straight, black lines on Scots-English American paste as he filed what little the New Yorker was able to tell him about what her mother had told her away for later reference. Sometimes he remembers things! But only sometimes. A heavy sigh blew ripples over calming java, and he resigned himself to being a piece of furniture for the moment he was one. Once he wasn't, he was pulling his bottom lip back over his bottom teeth at the departing blonde to illustrate what he'd meant by 'happened to your face.' The split lip. Aaaand... cue 'the look.' He raked top teeth over the back half of his bottom lip just before his eyes traveled from Alice Clare's gnawed-at mouth scab to an exterior window in a brilliant show of 'dis bitch be cray.' No, he didn't believe her. Who would have believed that? "It would take you thirty-seven stabs to ice a motherfucker," he muttered into his cup. Have a pastry, Alice Clare, Will thinks you're skinny. Siiip. Don't worry. He's never iced a motherfucker. You're still badder than him. His mind wandered off somewhere while he watched that window, and then there was a walking picnic blanket joining them. There's too much beard in this scene, now. Hi, you? "Nice tie," glance, distracted upnod, etc. Then back to watching the window. What on Earth had crawled into his head?
[Alice Clare] You know, in retrospect, maybe Alice Clare's shirt was that thing called irony. Because if she was to be any sort of wifey like figure, the one she was just made his way on in. I mean, it was kinda like that. She had left him a half eaten slice of chocolate cake, uncovered, on the counter next to a pile of nine all green M&M's with a note that said ``Don't touch this if your name is Franny.`` Totally made him dinner, see. Mira was given a soft smile, and all of Alice's attention while she listened to her. A delicate nod came at the tail end. "It's good you got to have those moments." But then Will was doing something weird with his bottom lip, and even weirder with his eyes and Alice stared a little at him, those fantastic brows of hers knitting closer together. "Oh. Oh you meant this," she gave a point to her lip, just as Don reached the end of the table. "He did it." A tip of her head in the tall man's direction, but she was still all brow-furrowed at Will. "Did you just say .. ice a motherfucker?" A slow blink, before what sounded a bit like a giggle flooded her throat. Alice looked waaay up at Abaddon there, and beamed. "Hi. You've got bugs on you," she stated the obvious, and then tipped from her pile of books and onto the actual cushion of the booth; scooting the the side and dragging the books with her to make room should he want to sit. There, on top, was the book she'd blindly spite-swiped from the library. It was .. um, this. s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/1e/94/69/1e9469060ae779a8fa13f3d942d7abee.jpg
[Miriam] It was clear from her complete lack of reaction that Miriam one hundred and ten percent believed Alice's story. She believed that she had stabbed some guy thirty-seven times. It seemed not unusual. And Mira...she had her own stories to tell, or to not tell. But one thing was certain. She did not feel the need to impress right now. Not even when Don came through the door and greeted her. There would be no angry attempts to prove her worth tonight, no big words, no grandiose gestures of running and running until her legs gave out just to prove some stupid, stupid point that she had no business trying to make. There was just Mira, little bird balled up in the corner of her booth. Which was no longer her booth. It was now Will's booth, and Alice's, and apparently Don's, too. The company was at once welcome and unwelcome, but she said nothing along those lines. She just did what she did best. She performed, and she smiled the tiniest bit. "Hello, Don." Finally, she reached out to snag her coffee and sip it. Will's gaze towards the window brushed past her on the way, and she caught it for half a second. And a funny thing happened. She laughed. For the first time since leaving for New York on Friday, she laughed. He looked adorable and ridiculous. "Put your eyes back in your skull, Kicks," she advised, clearly trying to drum up some of her usual pluck. "The staff doesn't want to clean your eyeballs off the floor." For good measure, she raised two fingers to her own face, tugged her lower lids down with them, and stuck her tongue out at him. Because she needed something to make her feel okay. To make her feel alive. To make her feel real again, even for a split second, because since Saturday she felt like a carved-out shell.
[Abaddon] He continued to be amused even when he felt the shifting moods the way energies wafted and waned. Neither the other beardo or Mira came to life, disinterested and relaxed. Alice though. They were connected it was impossible for him to not feel her prickling over his skin and melting into him. Most of the time two auras meet they clashed and pressed until settling, but when he let the muscled six-three frame bend and glide in beside Alice the two simmered and joined. It was.. comforting, but his outward appearance didn't waver. He couldn't exactly read Mira's energy, but her body language was saying a lot. She was uncomfortable, but faking it. Maybe faking it. Nervous. Monsters picked up on nerves right away, especially when the others weren't. He couldn't help letting eyes of green linger on her, teeth showing and brows furrowing just some. Too much time elapsed for it not to be weird when he finally let himself regard the compliment. And Alice too. "You can have it if you want? You a tie-guy?" Chin craned itself moreso at Alice now, giving her one heavy brow climbing while spiders made out of his fingers creeped from her shoulder closest to him to the other. PDA incoming. Three. "You have bugs on you too." Two. "Little schnookum wookums." One. And he dropped a kiss on her golden crown, a sick grin on his face like he was choking a baby in front of everyone. He drooled sickness and let his nose scrunch while lifting a finger to scratch at his beard. "How is everyone doing this fine and wonderful evening... Better than these lads I hope." He was all generic American in voice and tone. Not a hint of accent to where he really came from. Places darker than here. He folded newspaper down on the table in front of him, one headline more obvious than others to Alice no doubt. Two Dead in Cave In, No bodies found.
[Will] "I did just say 'ice a motherfucker,'" at Alice Clare, with an authoritative nod that wouldn't have scared a saint straight. Will is not scary, you guys. I wish he were, but he's not. At least not... right now. There he went, curling his upper lip at Miriam again before downing what was left in his cup, which had left several rings on the table that he clearly didn't care enough to wipe up. "For what they charge for coffee, here, they can clean up my Goddamned eyeballs off the floor." A sneer kind of waggled his chin from left to right, then he was shoving away from the table and climbing to his kicks; neon pink and starry at the ankle on an otherwise tall drink of nothing particularly eye-catching. Eyeballs. Eye-catching. Eyes eyes eyes. His were fixed on the front door the way cats always look at where they'd rather be when they're stuck in stupid hooman arms. "You," and he pulled Miriam's attention back in his general direction by using a thumb to brace a middle finger against before it went thunk against the back of her head. "Ash is on some dumb teenager high because a redheaded girl let him hug her, last week. You should let him hug you, too, so he can check brunette off the list." Also because you look like you need a hug, but I'm not saying that part out loud, I'm just going to stare at you a long, awkward second before I make tracks. We'll talk later. He dropped a heavy hand against Abaddon's shoulder as he passed, lazy and unassuming. "You keep the tie. If I ever put one on it'll be to hang myself with. G'night, guys." Hands in the pockets of black denim that didn't quite fit, and awayyy he goes!
SUMMARY: Will confronts recently down-and-out quadmate Miriam about the tone of her social media content and we discover that her dying mother's parting gift to her was the truth. Or at least part of it.
TW: mourning, death
[Will] He probably wasn't too high up on the list of people that Miriam wanted to see, recent events and tirades considered. Will just kind of stared at her from across the cafe for five or ten minutes, fighting the urge to chew on the inside of his bottom lip. Open wounds and acidic beverages are never a bright guy's ideal combination, and it never matters how much soy milk you pour into coffee, it's still coffee. The stuff still eats away at your insides. Maybe that was why he liked it so much. Or maybe he liked it so much because he grew up in Starbucks Land. Who knew? Oh, and you know what else eats away at your insides? Things that come out of your mouth in moments of hyper-irritated masculine posturing about the father you always thought you had, out there, somewhere, but never hoped in a million years you'd ever find. Things that you should probably apologize for. Eventually, he did it. Not the apology, of course. He forced himself up out of one chair and after lazy, lanky strides, the lumberjack hipster dropped down into another. No hi, no is this seat taken, just Will and his stupid beard and his stupid plaid flannel button-down, putting his terrible manners on display by slumping forward over his cup of joe and turning a brown-eyed glance to his left so that he could eyeball his quadmate. His front chest pocket was conspicuously vacant. "So... what's up with all the tortured emo kid network posts, Mir? Should I be worried about my razors?" You know, the ones he... shaves with...
[Miriam] Miriam had not expected Will to come over to her. In fact, she hadn't noticed him at all. She was quiet, lost in her thoughts, curled up into a ball that was too small in the corner of a booth. Legs were encased in dark gray tights, sticking out from underneath a deep red-orange dress, black ballet flats discarded under the table so she could sit sideways. There was a cup of coffee next to her, but she wasn't doing much in terms of drinking it. It just sat there, warm and steaming and ignored. So was the cookie she'd bought to go with it. When Will arrived, she looked up as though startled, the dark-eyed thing letting out a hushed gasp. "Oh!" Yeah, no, this was what she needed, totally. She needed Will coming over and reminding her of something else that was out of her grasp. But he was oddly...kind. And not snarky about it, for once in his existence. It brought the softest and smallest of smiles to a mouth curiously devoid of its usual pop of color. "I don't need your razors," she said, shaking her head. "They've probably got all your gross-ass beard hairs in it, you fucking gross-ass." Mira uncurled herself like a butterfly opening its wings. Pinned to the front of her dress, over her heart, was a small length of black ribbon, torn at one end. "I've been going through a lot of stuff, I guess," she said. Maybe it was easiest to explain the most recent. It was the most universal. "My mom died. It's why I was in New York." She had told her quadmates she was going back, but maybe not why.
[Will] Will tends to be oddly kind. Ask Ash, he'll tell you. "Better my gross-ass beard hairs than your Jew-fro pubes," he shot back, upper lip curling, silver-ringed nose wrinkling. Now, he has no idea what Miriam's pubic hair looks like; and honestly, if anyone has an anything-fro around here, it's him. Just look at that bird's nest of dark curls sitting not-so-pretty on top of a high-and-tight. Would a comb really kill you, Will? Would it? He hid a good-natured smile in his coffee cup and watched the butterfly emerge from her cocoon, attention catching on a black ribbon that he decided not to ask about. He'll ask you what'n the Hell's wrong with you, but how much detail he gets in response is always up to you. All of his snark and good nature took a tumble right off the edge of the beardy cliff that was his face with Miriam's confession. Some internal struggle or another moved behind the way he finally laid teeth into the right corner of his bottom lip. "I'm sorry," he offered stupidly. Everyone who has ever lost anyone, really lost anyone, knows that 'I'm sorry' is the very last thing someone who has just lost another someone wants to hear. 'I'm sorry.' 'If there's anything you need, let me know.' 'She's in a better place.' He'd always fought with the idea that six feet under was a better place. What made it better? The air quality? Are Earthworms great neighbors? Are the block parties off the chain? "You miss her, huh?"
[Alice Clare] It was purely coincidence that Alice Clare showed up at Joe's tonight. She had some studying to do. The library had been a bust. The librarian on staff took one look at her, and shooed her away -- that damn Donovan was not going to steal any books on her watch! Argosy, and Ophelia's judgey eyes was out of the question, and home? There was too much distraction, too much temptation, and far too much black magic she could be playing with. Not to mention torturing the recently raised from the dead tongueless Golem. So it was to Joe's that she came, arms full of books -- one swiped from the fucking library on her way out, just out of spite, she didn't even know what it was. She had her attention on the phone in her hand as she came in, thumb scrolling through some Wiki page or another, which would account for the way the blonde took steps right past the line of booths, and the two dark haired creatures who occupied one. About three steps into the future, and then she stopped; made a pivot on the dirty sole of an equally dirty red high top Converse that she'd paired with black tights, a black frilly bouncy lacy short skirt, and a white baggy tee that claimed she "Ain't No Wifey" to face the booth claimed by Will Byrne and Mira Roth. "You're back," bright blues surrounded by the smokey allure of dark makeup focused on Mira, and she squinted a little. It might have sounded a bit like an accusation, but it was more just stating a fact. Cause. It was a fact. She was gone. Now she's back. Teeth caught a bit of her lower lip, worrying against a small scab there, and Alice just stared at Mira for too long to not make it awkward, and then send a slowly sliding gaze to Will. "Hi, Will."
[Miriam] She put her head down on Will's shoulder because he was there and convenient, and because he said something kind, which she needed to hear right about now. She should have called Freya, but she was hesitant--still, somehow, hesitant. She'd call her later, she decided. After she was through with her coffee. Mira opened her mouth to say something about of course she missed her mother, and then she remembered that Will had essentially grown up without one. So she simply smiled. Sad and soft and empty. "Yeah. I miss her. She told me some...stuff, before she died." She pushed a finger across the table, collecting crumbs that weren't there. "She said I'm not hers. And Dad isn't my dad, and my brother and sister aren't my brother and sister." Why was she just up and telling Will all of these things? Why did he need to know any of it? They were things that she should have whispered to an alufiend under cover of darkness, not things you tell your quadmate in a coffee shop. Then again...maybe Will understood. When the door opened to admit one Alice Clare Donovan, she looked up at her and found herself unsure of what to think or say. Until she knew. "I'm sorry." She said it quietly. It was followed, a few seconds later, by, "Mom died over the weekend." No, she didn't really want a pity party, but she wanted to say something to her friend that she had effectively run off the last time they spoke to one another.
[Will] There was a head on his shoulder, again. That had been happening an awful lot, recently, and for the life of him, Will couldn't figure out why. He wasn't exactly, like... friend material. He had barely-there acquaintanceships with quadmates Miriam and Ash, and he'd met Alice Clare once or twice, but that was about it. Well, there was that one guy back at Cedar Creek, but did he really count? This was as social as Will had been in the better part of a decade. If he had the patience for a girlfriend -- he didn't -- he'd probably have been in the doghouse twice or three times, now, after long hairs of different colors were found on the sleeves of his shirts. Those brown eyes got real big, not just because of the head-on-the-shoulder thing, but because Miriam just kept right on with the confession vomit. "She... what? Are you adopted, then?" It might have been a thing they could have had in common! Except that people don't adopt damaged, darkened teenagers, do they? No, they adopt sweet little babies that they get to screw up their own way. So maybe it might not have been a thing they could have had in common. That line of questioning was abruptly dropped as Alice Clare put it in a 180 and started making narrow-eyed factusations. "Hi, Al," was what she got back, followed by an open stare. "Hey, the fuck happened to your face?"
[Alice Clare] For a minute there, it was on the tip of her tongue to ask what Mira was sorry for. It wasn't that she'd forgotten the last time she'd seen her, and the verbal sparring that had ensued, but Mira had already apologized for the dig at Alice that had started that. There was no need for there to be more, but before she could say as much, Mir went on with the news about her mom. "Oh. Oh, babe." A frown melted into her expression, and since they were both on one side of it, her pile of heavy books were dropped into the vacant side -- and sorry Will, but you're about to get a really uncomfortable lap full of Alice Clare. Piled herself right in there, all bony knees and sharp elbows, to get to the brunette in the corner of the booth to give her a big hug. Probably a good thing Alice is no longer boner-getting-Ash, yeah? She gave Mira a good squeeze about the neck, and then shoved herself off of Will with more bony knees. Righted to her feet, and adjusting her tee that had gone all twisted and wonky a bit, a look of confusion was sent to Will. "What's on my face?" Bruises had a tendency to heal, and Alice Clare had an even bigger tendency to forget. But with her own touch flying up to where the cut at her temple had scabbed over, her eyes went wide like his. But they're blue, and therefore better than stinky brown boy ones. "Oh! I got kidnapped off the street, and they bashed me a good one. But I totally killed him, like with thirty seven stabs." See, the truth was much more fun than the lie of falling down the steps going to the effing train. But, even better? The truth sounded too far fetched, so .. go ahead. Don't believe her. She sent him a sunny smile, and sat on her pile of books. "You got to see her first, right?, Mir?"
[Miriam] "I don't know." Oh, she wished she could answer Will's question, she so dearly wished. Her back itched the more she thought about it, and she leaned back against the corner of the booth to scratch scapulae against wall and vinyl. Miriam knew what that meant. And it was not something she wanted to have happen here. Not at Joe's. Not in front of Will, even if he was, you know, A Wizzerd Harry. Bee tee dubs your Hagrid impression sucks, Will, try harder. "Mom said she found me, but there was no record of where I came from. Dad confirmed, there were no papers, and..." And Alice was here. She was climbing over Will, so that there were arms around her now. And you know? The girls parted on bad terms last time, but Mira's arms came around her friend and hugged her up tight and even pecked a kiss to her cheek before letting her go so that her quadmate didn't have an awkward lap full of Donovan and a shoulder full of Roth at the same time. Though maybe that was what he was into. Who knew. "Yeah," she said. "I got to see her. I was with her at the end, actually. I don't know..." She toyed with the black ribbon pinned to the front of that deep orange dress. It wasn't Halloween chic. Too soon for that. "I wanted to stay and sit shiva with the family, but I had to come back for classes. Mom would've killed me if she knew I was trying to loiter in New York when I had classes to go to."
[Abaddon] Picnic blanket turned into a suitcoat made the man look like he was ready to be laid down and eaten upon. Cool thing about it was the matching tie he found recently that had a similar red-white plaid pattern, but included a line of black ants that were pulling a pieces of pie that was part of the knotted portion. Two rows of black bugs, one heading towards the yummy dessert while the others ran off the bottom of the tie with ransacked food. The suit-coat and tie was worn an ordinary red undershirt that peeked out at his wrists, longer than the coat that seemed too short for his arms. He tiptoed into the joint with a whistle on his breath, but not noisy enough to be picked up. It was mainly played in his head, nursery rhymes about monsters from a long, long time ago. In places that actually weren't really that far from here. Ink-lettered fingers held tiny sword of wood, picking at molars while he held newspaper in his other hand and meandered about into the joint with his jedi-mind powers. Not missing a step and successfully avoiding a patron on their way out, he spun with his foot work to dodge another passing waitress. Moving about like a petal on the wind, miraculously and gracefully tilting from breeze to breeze until settling at a destination that he had never intended on making. Or only intended on making. He could never remember which. The man who's face was buried in the ol' black and white, grinned face peeping out and over the edge just in time to catch the tail end of Mira and Alice. The guy with them he didn't know, but that didn't mean he wasn't afforded that same slice of gleaming grin that he gave to the girls. He loitered on the outside of the booth, partially eclipsing the half of the table they weren't using in shadow. In the shadow of the monster. Red pants too! He wore those. Slacks, kind of looked a little clownish, he certainly stood out like a sore thumb. He was a gaudy fuck. Part of his bargain with karma, showing his colors, so he could bite without feeling too bad about it. "Hi Mira. Hi Alice. Hi you." He rose one hand and tiltedpointer finger carefully as if it was the one that offered greetings and now the monster.
[Will] Maybe that was it. Maybe there was a fucking La-Z-Boy somewhere in Will's lineage, too, hiding among all the fairy-friends and witches and wizards and what ever else Dumbledore Byrne was trying to shove down his throat. Silky coffee sloshed from one side of his cup into the other when Alice Clare saw fit to take advantage of his super sekrit comfiness, but didn't spill over onto tattooed knuckles or forest and sky that intersected at regular points on the cuffs of long sleeves. STFU, Miriam; Will hasn't had near the lifespan Hagrid's had to work on his beard, okay? Perplexion pulled the inner corners of his eyebrows down so that they were almost straight, black lines on Scots-English American paste as he filed what little the New Yorker was able to tell him about what her mother had told her away for later reference. Sometimes he remembers things! But only sometimes. A heavy sigh blew ripples over calming java, and he resigned himself to being a piece of furniture for the moment he was one. Once he wasn't, he was pulling his bottom lip back over his bottom teeth at the departing blonde to illustrate what he'd meant by 'happened to your face.' The split lip. Aaaand... cue 'the look.' He raked top teeth over the back half of his bottom lip just before his eyes traveled from Alice Clare's gnawed-at mouth scab to an exterior window in a brilliant show of 'dis bitch be cray.' No, he didn't believe her. Who would have believed that? "It would take you thirty-seven stabs to ice a motherfucker," he muttered into his cup. Have a pastry, Alice Clare, Will thinks you're skinny. Siiip. Don't worry. He's never iced a motherfucker. You're still badder than him. His mind wandered off somewhere while he watched that window, and then there was a walking picnic blanket joining them. There's too much beard in this scene, now. Hi, you? "Nice tie," glance, distracted upnod, etc. Then back to watching the window. What on Earth had crawled into his head?
[Alice Clare] You know, in retrospect, maybe Alice Clare's shirt was that thing called irony. Because if she was to be any sort of wifey like figure, the one she was just made his way on in. I mean, it was kinda like that. She had left him a half eaten slice of chocolate cake, uncovered, on the counter next to a pile of nine all green M&M's with a note that said ``Don't touch this if your name is Franny.`` Totally made him dinner, see. Mira was given a soft smile, and all of Alice's attention while she listened to her. A delicate nod came at the tail end. "It's good you got to have those moments." But then Will was doing something weird with his bottom lip, and even weirder with his eyes and Alice stared a little at him, those fantastic brows of hers knitting closer together. "Oh. Oh you meant this," she gave a point to her lip, just as Don reached the end of the table. "He did it." A tip of her head in the tall man's direction, but she was still all brow-furrowed at Will. "Did you just say .. ice a motherfucker?" A slow blink, before what sounded a bit like a giggle flooded her throat. Alice looked waaay up at Abaddon there, and beamed. "Hi. You've got bugs on you," she stated the obvious, and then tipped from her pile of books and onto the actual cushion of the booth; scooting the the side and dragging the books with her to make room should he want to sit. There, on top, was the book she'd blindly spite-swiped from the library. It was .. um, this. s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/1e/94/69/1e9469060ae779a8fa13f3d942d7abee.jpg
[Miriam] It was clear from her complete lack of reaction that Miriam one hundred and ten percent believed Alice's story. She believed that she had stabbed some guy thirty-seven times. It seemed not unusual. And Mira...she had her own stories to tell, or to not tell. But one thing was certain. She did not feel the need to impress right now. Not even when Don came through the door and greeted her. There would be no angry attempts to prove her worth tonight, no big words, no grandiose gestures of running and running until her legs gave out just to prove some stupid, stupid point that she had no business trying to make. There was just Mira, little bird balled up in the corner of her booth. Which was no longer her booth. It was now Will's booth, and Alice's, and apparently Don's, too. The company was at once welcome and unwelcome, but she said nothing along those lines. She just did what she did best. She performed, and she smiled the tiniest bit. "Hello, Don." Finally, she reached out to snag her coffee and sip it. Will's gaze towards the window brushed past her on the way, and she caught it for half a second. And a funny thing happened. She laughed. For the first time since leaving for New York on Friday, she laughed. He looked adorable and ridiculous. "Put your eyes back in your skull, Kicks," she advised, clearly trying to drum up some of her usual pluck. "The staff doesn't want to clean your eyeballs off the floor." For good measure, she raised two fingers to her own face, tugged her lower lids down with them, and stuck her tongue out at him. Because she needed something to make her feel okay. To make her feel alive. To make her feel real again, even for a split second, because since Saturday she felt like a carved-out shell.
[Abaddon] He continued to be amused even when he felt the shifting moods the way energies wafted and waned. Neither the other beardo or Mira came to life, disinterested and relaxed. Alice though. They were connected it was impossible for him to not feel her prickling over his skin and melting into him. Most of the time two auras meet they clashed and pressed until settling, but when he let the muscled six-three frame bend and glide in beside Alice the two simmered and joined. It was.. comforting, but his outward appearance didn't waver. He couldn't exactly read Mira's energy, but her body language was saying a lot. She was uncomfortable, but faking it. Maybe faking it. Nervous. Monsters picked up on nerves right away, especially when the others weren't. He couldn't help letting eyes of green linger on her, teeth showing and brows furrowing just some. Too much time elapsed for it not to be weird when he finally let himself regard the compliment. And Alice too. "You can have it if you want? You a tie-guy?" Chin craned itself moreso at Alice now, giving her one heavy brow climbing while spiders made out of his fingers creeped from her shoulder closest to him to the other. PDA incoming. Three. "You have bugs on you too." Two. "Little schnookum wookums." One. And he dropped a kiss on her golden crown, a sick grin on his face like he was choking a baby in front of everyone. He drooled sickness and let his nose scrunch while lifting a finger to scratch at his beard. "How is everyone doing this fine and wonderful evening... Better than these lads I hope." He was all generic American in voice and tone. Not a hint of accent to where he really came from. Places darker than here. He folded newspaper down on the table in front of him, one headline more obvious than others to Alice no doubt. Two Dead in Cave In, No bodies found.
[Will] "I did just say 'ice a motherfucker,'" at Alice Clare, with an authoritative nod that wouldn't have scared a saint straight. Will is not scary, you guys. I wish he were, but he's not. At least not... right now. There he went, curling his upper lip at Miriam again before downing what was left in his cup, which had left several rings on the table that he clearly didn't care enough to wipe up. "For what they charge for coffee, here, they can clean up my Goddamned eyeballs off the floor." A sneer kind of waggled his chin from left to right, then he was shoving away from the table and climbing to his kicks; neon pink and starry at the ankle on an otherwise tall drink of nothing particularly eye-catching. Eyeballs. Eye-catching. Eyes eyes eyes. His were fixed on the front door the way cats always look at where they'd rather be when they're stuck in stupid hooman arms. "You," and he pulled Miriam's attention back in his general direction by using a thumb to brace a middle finger against before it went thunk against the back of her head. "Ash is on some dumb teenager high because a redheaded girl let him hug her, last week. You should let him hug you, too, so he can check brunette off the list." Also because you look like you need a hug, but I'm not saying that part out loud, I'm just going to stare at you a long, awkward second before I make tracks. We'll talk later. He dropped a heavy hand against Abaddon's shoulder as he passed, lazy and unassuming. "You keep the tie. If I ever put one on it'll be to hang myself with. G'night, guys." Hands in the pockets of black denim that didn't quite fit, and awayyy he goes!
