Even Spartans need coffee..
Who: York, Ianto Jones and [OPEN]
When: Friday, January 3rd, 10am
Where: The coffee shop
What: Even Spartans need coffee.
Rating: PG-13 for likely cursing
Status: Incomplete and open
York had spent most of yesterday with Lulu Spencer, a pretty blonde who'd shown him around the small town. The rest of the time he'd spent looking for Tex's Pelican so he could steal her gas. Unfortunately, he found it-- in a giant crack in the canyon, burned to a crisp. So much for that. He'd made a bunk up in the cargo bay of his own ship and he'd slept there for the night. But this morning, after checking the gears and dials, and conversing a while with Delta, he'd gone looking for the coffee shop he'd seen on his and Lulu's walk the previous day.
So, with a caloused, long-fingered hand, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, prim and proper looking in his uniform (it'd have to do until he found some normal looking clothes. But he felt so much lighter without his MJOLNIR armor on, so it was a welcome change. Also, it got a lot fewer stares. Delta, for now, was tucked away inside his head, chattering on about the history of coffee, while York headed over to the counter, hands spreading out over the smooth surface as he read over the menu above, squinting closed his left eye as he did. So many choices.
The reason there are so many choices, is because humans have come to be quite complacent with having everything that they have ever desired right at their finger tips. In 2009, Earth was not on a full scale war, and though the economy was low, it was still a time of prosparity for most of the population. The voice inside his head informed him, as if York had always been pondering that very question. Thankfully, the Freelancer had learned long ago not to answer verbally, so he just smirked instead, then finally looked away from the menu, leaning forward some over the counter to take a glance at the person, [Barista, Delta informed him], behind the counter.
"You still serve plain old black coffee, right?" Asked with a easy lopsided grin, one side of his mouth curling up higher than the other, to reveal painstakingly perfect white teeth.
When: Friday, January 3rd, 10am
Where: The coffee shop
What: Even Spartans need coffee.
Rating: PG-13 for likely cursing
Status: Incomplete and open
York had spent most of yesterday with Lulu Spencer, a pretty blonde who'd shown him around the small town. The rest of the time he'd spent looking for Tex's Pelican so he could steal her gas. Unfortunately, he found it-- in a giant crack in the canyon, burned to a crisp. So much for that. He'd made a bunk up in the cargo bay of his own ship and he'd slept there for the night. But this morning, after checking the gears and dials, and conversing a while with Delta, he'd gone looking for the coffee shop he'd seen on his and Lulu's walk the previous day.
So, with a caloused, long-fingered hand, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, prim and proper looking in his uniform (it'd have to do until he found some normal looking clothes. But he felt so much lighter without his MJOLNIR armor on, so it was a welcome change. Also, it got a lot fewer stares. Delta, for now, was tucked away inside his head, chattering on about the history of coffee, while York headed over to the counter, hands spreading out over the smooth surface as he read over the menu above, squinting closed his left eye as he did. So many choices.
The reason there are so many choices, is because humans have come to be quite complacent with having everything that they have ever desired right at their finger tips. In 2009, Earth was not on a full scale war, and though the economy was low, it was still a time of prosparity for most of the population. The voice inside his head informed him, as if York had always been pondering that very question. Thankfully, the Freelancer had learned long ago not to answer verbally, so he just smirked instead, then finally looked away from the menu, leaning forward some over the counter to take a glance at the person, [Barista, Delta informed him], behind the counter.
"You still serve plain old black coffee, right?" Asked with a easy lopsided grin, one side of his mouth curling up higher than the other, to reveal painstakingly perfect white teeth.