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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Her hands don't shake, but they feel a little shaky as she continues with her efforts. She hates being put on the spot like that, whatever she does wrong picked apart.
She winces at the reprimand. She's aware she's not the most articulate person on the planet and words are always hard to come by. It's why she is, for the most part, quiet with whoever she meets. Words are always strewn together awkward and clunky.
Redness splashes at her cheeks. "Sorry, sir."
Once she's done with the coffee she pours it onto a cup and doesn't dare offer it to him. She leaves it there, her hands gripping the counter.
"I'm a personal assistant," she explains feebly after she's cleared her throat. "...When I'm not in school."
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There is another eyebrow raise at the apology, and it would look more critical if he... wasn't so old. "Don't apologize," he says, and it's not biting like it once would be. It's soft but firm. "In the future, simply say that it isn't anything you want to talk about, and you can learn to be more articulate. And you certainly don't have to call me 'sir'. I'm not that old."
Except the part where he actually is that old.
And here comes the part where Robin Rice has to take her seriously. It is admirable, however, that she should want to be one. He's loathe to admit. It's not as though there are many people who will sign up for that position, which is why he's been assisting every bloody person in this Tower that needs an assistant but can't have one.
Robin reaches over for the cup of coffee that she's prepared. He doesn't drink it yet. Oh, the suspense. "How long have you been a personal assistant?"
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She bites back the apology that almost comes. An apology for apologizing hardly makes sense, and Anne's skating on thin ice as it is. "I'm not saying you're old," she blurts out. "You're what, thirty? That's not old at all. But I don't know what else to call you. There weren't...proper introductions."
It's a respect thing. Not so much an...old thing. She doesn't know how old he is but he doesn't look it, so.
There was just coffee, and the insistent need that coffee be made, in the right way.
Anne swallows thickly as he reaches for the cup of coffee but doesn't drink it. Gwah. "A year," she answers primly, smoothing the ruffles of her cream-colored skirt. She looks every bit the part of the pretty assistant. "Two months for the community. I met personally with Miss Jones."
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It makes no sense at all, and Robin would potentially have to hit his head against the wall. It is a pretty head. The narration appreciates making this head walling unnecessary. "I'm glad you said thirty," he says as he'd just been having a conversation not long ago with someone who thought that he looked 34. The four years make all the difference apparently. "You can call me Robin. It's my name."
Hey, there's an introduction, finally!
He is still holding that cup of coffee without drinking it. There's a mixture of amusement and disbelief at the way she says a year. "Well. I've been one for four decades. If you're interested in learning how to be a good personal assistant, I suggest you listen to me."
Robin finally, finally takes the smallest drink from that cup. There's a lot of silence before he shrugs his shoulders finally. "It's not horrible.' Which is an incredible compliment coming ( ... )
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There's the urge to look further up, to see who she's really talking to and put a face to the name and voice. She reminds herself she can't. Or she can, but it's always a risk and the risk is not worth the cost.
It's never worth the cost. She doesn't seem surprised he's over four decades and not thirty like she'd assumed. Her father looks like he's forty and he's nearly a hundred. It's weird to think about, and she doesn't give it much thought. Anne nods vehemently again. She will listen!
Anne has no idea it's a compliment coming from him, but she's heard a lot worse. "Anything I can do to make it better?" she asks, opening the small notepad she'd been carrying.
"...I make lists," she explains to him sheepishly. "I want to...take notes. To remember. Just in case."
SHE WANTS YOUR APPROVAL NOW, ROBIN. SHE WILL WORK HARD FOR IT.
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He notices that she doesn't meet his gaze. It seems to be more than the fact that she's shy as well. She isn't an angel, and he knows no humans live in the tower. It only leaves one option, but Robin Rice will never force anyone to embrace their calling.
He understands, the fear of killing someone.
"Anne, coffee making is nothing that is so technical. There is a part that comes from the individual once they've made as many coffee pots as I have, been burnt enough by haphazard spills, and served enough cups, you too can have a coffee that's uniquely yours." Robin has another sip of her coffee, pouring it into an empty cup and handing that cup to her. "It will never be as good as mine, of course, but it can be great ( ... )
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Oh, Anne. Don't believe everything Robin says. He is often full of himself, and the narration thinks that if someone applies themselves to making coffee... they could make coffee as well as he can.
"Don't... do that," Robin says, making a bit of a face. "Don't sound so discouraged. This is why I have all of these coffee pots here. If you practice, with experience, you will find that certain way of making coffee that makes it your own."
Robin does not understand why the narration would think that she couldn't say that with a straight face.
"You're already thinking about the details of the coffee, what makes it pure and what doesn't so you're on the right track," he informs her, and he pays no attention to the fact that he said something encouraging.
He is a changed man. He is capable of being encouraging. Honest.
"And you're thinking of what the ( ... )
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She's going to take that as a good sign, whether he's making a face or not. She nods, a little wide-eyed, and she straightens into a more proper sitting position. "I will practice very, very hard."
Anne may be starry-eyed. The narration is not.
THIS NARRATION IS NOT GETTING INTO IT WITH YOU, ROBIN. SO SHUT YOUR FACE.
Anne bites her lip so as not to preen. He sounds encouraging! He's giving her tips! This means she's doing good. "I understand, yes," Anne says with more vehement nodding. She doesn't add the sir, and she doesn't quite want to call him Robin when they are speaking of such serious matters ( ... )
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"Well, I'm going to be working here most afternoons after I get off school," she offers with a little more determination. "Are you here often?"
That is not a random question, Robin. Anne might want to follow you around now within the Kashtta walls should she ever need approval over something. Particularly if it involves coffee, but this includes all personal assistant tasks.
Anne's eyes widen. She doesn't say anything, though she is thinking it, and nearly drops the coffee pot she'd had a good hold on. Please do not shoot me, Robin. She swallows hard, eyes trained on the scuffs of her sleeves ( ... )
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