( how come i always try to cross even though i know the bridge is burning )
It's funny what a person can get used to.
(It's not.)
Lucas North always lands on his feet - eventually - but Alyosha Tarasov can't tell if this is falling or landing he's doing right now, nearly a year after his arrival. In the back of his head, he's marking time like he's back in prison and he doesn't have another eight fucking years to go ( Read more... )
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Vivid dreams have been a characteristic of Nicoline's unconscious for as long as she can remember. This, though--this place--is stunning even for her standards. She remembers, vaguely, coming back to the hostel after lunch with Ninon and fell asleep on the little sofa in her parlor. And now she's here. Somehow.
Gotta be a dream, if a remarkably lucid one--but Nico will roll with that. She likes the night, even if she's sure she's actually asleep. She heads into the coffee shop nearest her, away from the dark, and finds it pretty abandoned, but for another patron and the employee on deck.
"Hi, question," she asks of the young man at the counter, "d'you sell tea here, too?"
He gives her a bit of a wry look, but she just shrugs at him, and he responds in the affirmative.
Tea with raspberry liqueur it is. Who cares if it's blasphemous.
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"The tea is not as good," Lucas says, without looking up from the newspaper he collected from the rack beside the counter. (The variety is ridiculous; sometimes he just picks up the first thing that's there. They're always recent, at least, for their-world values of 'recent'.)
"Mr Tarasov," the barista protests.
His grin is fleeting as he does look up momentarily, suggesting, "Make better tea, then."
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She gives the barista a mock-solemn look, as if to indicate with her eyes that this is a very serious accusation indeed; she rolls her shoulders in a shrug, and does spare a curious look for the Russian bloke in the shop. It would make sense to have it be someone she's seen before, but she doesn't recognize him.
"Well, then, why don't I just come back there and do it? I happen to make excellent tea."
The barista has a slightly deer-in-headlights expression as she moves for the counter.
"I...don't think that's allowed, miss," he protests, sounding a bit like he wants to flail.
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