See I was on the verge of breaking down. Sometimes silence can seem so loud
[OOC: Over a year ago, I made a post with all 14 of my characters that almost reached 925 comments. I only have 8 characters now, but lets see how far that goes. :D Feel free to tag in. Multiple times with one character or with multiple chars. It's open for forever. And I know there have been a lot of posts lately but I haven't made one in over a
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She tilts her head, never meeting his gaze. It remains focused on his hands.
"I'm...I'm sorry, sir. I already know how to make coffee. I've been...I've been doing so for weeks now," she stammers out.
"Well, no. Not the past two weeks, but there was an Incident." She's not getting into that with Robin Rice as she has no idea who he is and he has no reason to care but she is Anne, and she rambles. "And, um. Yes, I know how to...make coffee. Already."
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He pauses in his talking and then looks at her, a little critically. He is not as much of an asshole as he once was, but he is always critical when it comes to making coffee.
"Alright. If you seem to think you know how to make coffee so well, I insist that you prove it to me." Robin taps a finger on the top of one of the unused coffee makers and then he folds his arms across his chest, waiting for her to perform.
And then there's another long pause and he stops, giving her a long look. Whether or not she wants to get into it with him, he's asking about it, because he cares or he's too... curious for his own good.
"What incident are we talking about, exactly?"
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She quiets immediately. This may be a superior of hers. Even if he's not, he's someone older (she is not calling you old, Robin) and that means she should not be talking back.
She wouldn't normally. She's just sure of how well she makes coffee.
"...Okay."
Anne moves toward the coffee maker in question, picking up the necessary ingredients. She works quietly, not used to conversation, entirely too used to avoiding someone's gaze.
"Oh. Uh. You know." Anne clears her throat. "I'm... There was the tornado. And then there was a concussion. And then--" my dad. "Just stuff."
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He believes that he is, and he knows it to be true.
Robin watches her make the coffee. It's all critical, the way that he watches her. If she picks out the wrong ingredient, he makes a note of it in his head. It can't be comfortable for him. The narration apologizes. Robin insists that all great coffeemakers are criticized, and she simply will have to be used to it.
He raises an eyebrow at her explanation.
"You realize that honestly tells me nothing," Robin says. "Stuff isn't exactly articulate, you realize."
However, he will not delve into whatever it is that she's going through.
"Why do you want to learn how to make good coffee?"
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The people screaming and running left and right don't faze him much, either. It's horrible, and he's sorry for the people that have died, but it's another day in Chicago, really.
Wes picks up the object David banged his head with.
"Easy there," he says, carefully standing back up. He recognizes David. Without the beard, there's a chance he might not recognize Wes back. "You okay?"
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"I'm okay," he says, and then winces as pain rips through his head. He presses his fingers against the bump that's forming where the item hit. "Hurts a little but..."
He looks at him then. There's something about him that seems... like he ought to...
"You look... familiar."
Like your dead girlfriend.
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"Yeah, we've met," Wes says to him. He scratches the back of his head, foot kicking pieces of the shipwreck away from them. "I'm Wes. We both had rainclouds over our heads for a day."
He stretches his hand out, offering it to David.
"Slowly now, we don't want ya gettin' too dizzy."
/ded
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It makes Wes look younger, which is why David did not recognize him at first.
David takes the offered hand, because he needs it. There's a certain level of confusion in his head, and he can't sort anything out. It might be from that blow.
"You're bleeding," he says as he looks at Wes' arm.
David is a guardian at heart. He protects the people around him. He's perceptive, and he notices things like that injury of Wes', but he allows Wes to pull him wherever he might like.
There's a ship behind him, and it's crushed plenty of people under it, killed them even.
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Instead, she finds... a man with ten glass pots lined up in front of him, and a determined aura about him. A vivid, determined aura: he's an angel. But for once, she brushes that off. She's more interested in what he's doing with all that glassware.
"Oh, hey!" she says, upon seeing the setup. "...You wouldn't happen to be an alchemist, would you? I don't usually see so much glassware in one place, except when it's us." She laughs a little at the dig at herself, though she actually means the question quite seriously.
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It's not that he is inconsiderate of wanderers. He's... dating one after all, but he has never imagined a world where making coffee is not an ordinary part of one's day. It honestly can't be helped.
"I am not... an alchemist," Robin tells her though he has heard of them. "I'm making coffee. No one around here seems to know how to make a proper pot, and I'm honestly tired of seeing all the pour attempts that show up on the counter whenever I'm around."
Robin Rice is rather particular about his coffee. Let it be known by the world over.
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"Um, can I see how it's done, too? Because I have a job working in a coffee shop pretty soon, but I'm really not all that used to coffee, or anything. So it'd be good for my job if I could get a better handle on how you make it."
She didn't really think twice about taking the job without knowing the first thing about coffee. Making things out of other things mixed together is pretty much her life. But still, any recipe can improve with a little focus and dedication.
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"You can," he says to her. "But it's highly unlikely that you'll make it as well as I can."
Of course, it doesn't matter how well she can make it. Robin will always believe that his coffee is the very best.
"I cannot tell you the exact secret to how I make coffee, but I can show you how to make it as close as humanly possible."
The narration facepalms. Repeatedly.
Robin begins to show her the first step of making coffee, followed by the second step.
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She's been worried about her, and she thinks that goes without saying.
She slings her purse over her shoulder and walks over to her.
A small smile pulls across her face effortlessly.
"Hey, haven't seen you in a good while."
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She had to have that separation if only for a week.
It's the best decision that she's ever made for herself.
"I... went with Wes to his hometown. I thought that I should... get out," Martha admits, and she winces again, stopping as she looks at her friend. "I needed... something, and I think... that that is what I needed."
Getting away. Something like that.
"I know I've been... distant lately."
Which is putting it lightly.
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"Hey, you're talking to the women that invited you to a weekend away to Washington, remember?" she asks quietly.
Sure, Rachel had to go for business, but she could have very well stayed only the one night and she didn't.
Getting away had been needed. She'd been at a breaking point.
"You do what you need to do for yourself," Rachel says firmly. The weekend away the last time helped enormously, for both of them, she felt. Martha, in particular, carries the whole community on her back sometimes. It's important she get what she needs.
Rachel hooks a hand around Martha's arm and starts walking again. "I don't suppose you have some time for coffee?"
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"I remember," she says, and her lips quirk to the side. "It's especially difficult to forget after that whole incident in the hotel room."
Ah, Wes. He will never live that down.
"I have," Martha assures her, and it's quiet but sincere. The walls are only half built for once, as they should be, instead of completely surrounding her. "It simply took me much too long to do so."
But she doesn't exactly sound like she's reprimanding herself for it. She understands, the precarious place that she'd been in. Sometimes people need to sit in the darkness for a long while before someone can remind them that there's a switch and they're supposed to be looking for it.
Her smile widens when Rachel hooks a hand around her arm, and she walks alongside her. "I always have time for coffee," she says. "Especially if I'll be having it with you."
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There's no reason for him to do so, but he got kicked out of his last apartment and he didn't have a place to sleep. Tower's free room and board, it makes sense. He can be a practical guy.
The black eye and the blood pouring down his lip says otherwise, but hey, this time it wasn't his fault.
He blinks when he spots Xander trying to sneak back into the Tower.
Naked.
He blinks some more.
"Piss off your girlfriend?"
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This?
This is a bad being naked which he does not appreciate at all. He's standing behind a plant when Rafe addresses him. Of course, it's a dude that finds him in the lobby instead of a hot chick that might decide that this... naked body fo his was too much too resist (Ha).
"No," Xander says, wishing vaguely that he had a girlfriend. "There's a monster outside. It likes clothes. I was violated... and not in the way of the good."
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Not one he can really be an asshole with.
Well, he could, but he's not as much of an asshole as he'd like to think he is, which is why he's slipping out of his jacket and offering it to Xander.
Blood stains the sleeve a little, but beggars can't be choosers.
"You sure it was the clothes it was liking?" he comments, lifting a brow.
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"Thanks," he says, and he's going to try to figure out the best position for this jacket to prevent anyone from seeing too much of anything.
Yeah, Rafe. Xander doesn't think you're an asshole at all, that was quick.
There are two brows lifted in response to that comment. He clears his throat, a nervous sound though he isn't really nervous, more uncomfortable at the thought. "Knowing me and knowing how much the monster-types liked me in my own universe... there's really no way to tell. For my own peace of mind, I'm going with clothes. The monster likes the clothes, and any sexual assault done was purely for the benefit of the clothes."
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