Once upon a time, it wouldn't have surprised Noah to have someone pop out of seemingly nowhere and talk to him. As it was, he was years out of practice. So he jumped, and in doing so managed to spill coffee on his shirt and the Daily Prophet article he had been reading.
"There is absolutely nothing wrong with banana nut muffins," he said, looking otherwise unruffled and grabbing for a napkin. "I don't see why my breakfast habits are a cause of concern for you." It looked like Noah was going to have to retrain himself, because he couldn't afford to ruin shirts every time Claude came popping in. It wasn't like he had a job anymore.
Hey, at least neither one had tried to kill the other yet. Though they were only three seconds into the conversation, so the trend might not hold.
"Sure," Claude agreed, one eyebrow going up in a definite amused expression at Noah's jumpiness. That was new. Well, all right, not new. But it'd been a long time since he'd been able to startle Noah. It was definitely something he'd have to take advantage of. "It's not the banana nuts themselves that are the issue, here. More the lack of options in your life. The perpetual closed-off nature of your breakfast choices." A tiny smile was curving the corner of his mouth and there was a faint, hopeful expression in his eyes as he sat there, elbows propped on the table, talking around a mouthful of muffin.
Noah hadn't told him to fuck off. So maybe there was a possibility that they could have a conversation that didn't end in shooting. Maybe.
"My breakfast is not closed off. I have waffles and cereal sometimes." He mopped up as much of the coffee as he could and set the napkin aside for later disposal. "I just happen to like banana nut muffins. And apparently, so do you." He gave Claude a pointed look. Smug bastard, chomping down on the remains of his breakfast. Almost like old times, except that he looked like someone you'd expect to be ringing a bell and shouting "The end is near!" downtown.
"Ooh, daring." Leaning back, tossing the last of the muffin into his mouth, Claude gave Noah a smug grin. "Course. Banana nut is a perfectly safe and reasonable choice. If I felt the need to be boring, I'd probably eat them every day, too." Reaching over, Claude snagged the cup of coffee, finishing it off. "You know, Freud would have a field day with you, friend, with your obsession with order and your bland breakfast choices. Almost as if you're making up for something." Raising his eyebrows, Claude sat forward again, folding his arms on the table. Of course Noah would order his life out, lists and neat creases in his pants, and hair always cut just so. Claude was an almost painful contrast with his shaggy beard and ill-fitting clothing. But he'd left the Company, and with it his illusion that things - any thing at all - made sense
( ... )
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"There is absolutely nothing wrong with banana nut muffins," he said, looking otherwise unruffled and grabbing for a napkin. "I don't see why my breakfast habits are a cause of concern for you." It looked like Noah was going to have to retrain himself, because he couldn't afford to ruin shirts every time Claude came popping in. It wasn't like he had a job anymore.
Hey, at least neither one had tried to kill the other yet. Though they were only three seconds into the conversation, so the trend might not hold.
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Noah hadn't told him to fuck off. So maybe there was a possibility that they could have a conversation that didn't end in shooting. Maybe.
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