Morningstar Manor

Bea was sipping coffee at a table by the window, wearing a necklace she thought was just gaudy enough to be awesome on a Monday afternoon and a red dress, giggling at the newest Sassy Gay Friend video she'd called up on her iPhone. There was work to be done and puppies to walk, but Bea was feeling particularly lazy and figured she wouldn't be much good to anyone without caffeine.

*

Niles was sprawled out on the couch in his usual position, blatantly taking up the whole thing as he flipped through a stack of magazines that had come in the mail that morning. There were copies of Esquire, Tattoo magazine, Maxim, and Time, but he was currently flipping holding the Spring 2011 Ikea catalog. What? He needed a new lamp.

*

Granger had taken the day off, which left him feeling a little out of sorts, but that was okay. He sat in a corner table by himself with a cup of plain black coffee and a donut he'd picked up at the Krispy Kreme on his way home from the grocery store, looking around at the people in the Mocha in between bites. He needed to spend time somewhere besides the bureau and the station, he decided somewhat distractedly.

*

Rhiannon sat at a table ignoring the cup of still-steaming coffee in front of her in favor of the little bundle of Sophie in her arms. She wasn't crying or anything and in fact was alert and awake and even attempting to smile, but that could've just been gas. Likely gas, actually, but it was still cute.

Pajamas from the drawer in the big dresser in the bedroom; the pretty silk robe from the hook in the bathroom, the toothbrush next to his from the shiny silver holder on the counter....

Jazz had a list and she did her best to follow it without thought, to ignore the trembling in her hands as she gathered up every small piece of herself scattered about Tom's apartment and dropped them into a simple Micheal's Bros. box she'd saved from the trash.

A pair of heels from the end of the neat line of men's dress shoes in the closet; the lovely polished hair brush from the nightstand.

She lingered for a moment by the bed, idly picking hair from the brush as she pictured the watch she'd given him for his birthday sitting in the box amongst his other shinies and wondered whether or not she should take it...but, in the end, she dropped the brush with the rest and hefted the box into her arms, leaving the jewelery behind.

It'd been a gift, and whatever he decided to do with it (sell it probably, a vicious part of her hissed) was his business. Not hers.

Not anymore.

( She's never coming back. )

Cleo had been out, she had college in the morning, but right now she didn't much care about that. Jazz had been moping, and pining, and pining and moping, and Cleo had decided she wasn't going to do the same and had been out dancing and flirting and staying safe with bottled water and not spending too long with any one partner on the dance floor. She was tired, her feet ached, and she was sticky. But, she had to creep into the grave dark apartment, without turning on lights, or making a sound, because if she woke Jazz up, there would be, in no uncertain terms, Hell, To, Pay.

She knew that.

But she'd had enough of the frustration of tiptoeing around everything, and sort of accidentally slammed the apartment's front door as it slipped from her hands and crashed closed. "Oooops," she snickered softly, "bad door!"

She gave up on tiptoeing and sauntered down to her room instead, humming a little under her breath, one of the tunes she'd been dancing to earlier, oh, was that a noise? She paused, by her bedroom door, waiting for the inevitable arrival of what could only be described as 'dead Jazz walking', well, if she was only half awake anyway.

One week after brought denial.

Tom just needs time. After all, he's done this before...he'll come back, and explain.

It'll be okay.

That's what she told herself as she got up in the morning, before she went to bed at night, as she carted her cell phone with her everywhere, as she looked over her shoulder everytime she heard footsteps....

Surely it was just a matter of time.

A door slammed. A woman’s soft sob was quickly stifled.

Jazz huddled in the dark, the door to her back, hoping she hadn’t woken Cleo.

She wasn’t ready to face to her sister. She needed time. She needed....

“I can’t do this.”
( Read more... )

Why don't I do this more often, was the question that circled through Jazz's head as she flashed a ten at the bartender and waited for him to produce another bottle for her.

An irritable day had turned into a frustrating night - pissy customers, complicated homework, another round of "thanks, but no thanks" text messages from Tom....

Alcohol made it all seem so much less important.

Grinning, she traded with the bartender (booze for cash) and nodded at the patron next to her as she brought her third Guinness in just over an hour to her mouth.

"And I don't even like Guinness," she laughed.

( Emily )

*

( Avery )

*

( Susan )

*

( Laura )

Jazz was hard at work in the Mocha, trying to - not so much finish, as start - her Technical Writing term paper. The term paper that was due on Monday.

Yes, she had known about it for a month, and no, she honestly hadn't meant to put it off, but well...things happen.

So here she was, up to her elbows in coffee and muffins and hoping working in the Mocha would be easier than at home where Cleo kept breathing disappointment all over her.

Loudly.

After work, and classes, and a trip to a local ethnic grocery, Jazz was finally home and she was, in spite of the long day, in a bright mood.

"Cleo!" She called as she breezed into the apartment, bags swinging, keys dropping into the bowl inside the door with a clang. "I got'em!"

Coming home from work, Thomas did not go up to the 12th floor on the elevator, but stopped in the second. He had not called ahead to check if either of the Gonzales girls were home, but he decided to try his luck, and knocked on their apartment door.

This whole thing had been her idea, and Jazz didn’t regret it. She wanted her family, as small and unofficial as it was, to know Tom and she wanted Tom to know them. He and they, all of them, were important to her - they all needed to know each other and know they were big parts of her life.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t nervous - or stupid.

She’d told Olly enough about Tom for the going on; name, age, the usual important details. The rest she kept to herself as much because it wasn’t anyone’s business other than her’s and Tom’s as because she didn’t want Olly prejudiced. The past was the past, they should all start fresh here as they were now.

Wasn’t that what she was always telling Tom?
( Read more... )

It was, perhaps, a bit cruel, and, Jazz imagined, that it had to feel incredibly frustrating. But, even though she was sure she'd have to check for booby-traps before she touched and did anything for the next few days, it had been a laugh and half to watch Cleo stalk about as she'd gotten ready for dinner, obviously feeling hard done by.

She'd told Cleo last week they'd be having dinner for her birthday, but other than that, and a cheery "happy birthday" greeting at breakfast, the day had been uneventful and Jazz had made no further mention about the importance of the date.

Jazz figured the surprises to come would be all sweeter if Cleo had to sweat for a while first.

Now, as they crossed the parking garage, heading for Jazz's car - Jazz dug theatrically in her clutch, making a show of looking for something as they walked.

When she was certain they were close enough that there was no way Cleo had missed the car in the usually empty spot next to Jazz's convertible, she pulled the set of keys from her purse - little VW logo out - and held them out to her sister, saying, "I didn't have time to get 'motorists beware' warning posters made for everyone, so try to take it easy, huh?"

It was a tight squeeze, using her lunchbreak to run out to the airport and then back to the Empress, and as Jazz her way down toward the arrival gates she quietly appealed to the Powers That Be that Olly's flight wouldn't be delayed.

They must have been feeling particularly lenient today, or simply prepping for some worse catastrophe, because as she paused to study the arrival and departure monitors she saw, unmistakeably, out of the corner of her eye what could only be Olly. Early and already waiting.

He was the type of guy that was hard to miss: tall and broad, with a lined and worn face set off with a bushy mustache and dark, cutting eyes.

The long-hair (currently pulled back into a sleek ponytail) and the tattoos (which only a small fraction of which were currently visible) didn't hurt either. People were moving past in a wide berth, watching him with cautiously, curious expressions.

A smile breaking over her face, Jazz rushed to him, squealing happily. "Ollykins!"

Olly had a split-second to wince at the much hated nickname before Jazz hit him. Then he too was too busy smiling and hugging to do much else.

Memphis' obvious initial suprise at Jazz's call had melted, by the end of the conversation, into a sort of amused disbelief and she did feel marginally bad about her request, imagining the looks he'd get, but she couldn't come up with anyone better to turn to. And to his credit he had agreed, muttering a soft, "To each his own," before hanging up.

That had been several days ago; now, much sooner than she'd actually expected, Jazz was guiding her sleek little sportscar into a parking space at a local dealership, looking around for a familiar tattooed body before she'd even fully climbed out of her seat.

For some twenty odd minutes now, Jazz had been sitting at one of the Mocha's garden tables, soaking up the sun while she click-clacked away on her laptop and chattered into her cellphone in rapid fire Spanish. Now, finally, she paused and told the phone, "Sí,sí - te amo también." She listened for a moment, then laughed. "Entonces véale."

She hung up, sliding her phone onto the table top and starting typing away on her laptop again, looking quite pleased with herself.

Twelve games in and she still hadn't won one.

Accepting defeat with a sigh, Jazz clicked to start a new game. While it loaded she reached for her rapidly cooling coffee and looked around the Mocha lazily. It had been a slow, boring, day at work, and the mood hadn't changed much since getting home.

The laundry room had been empty, so she'd left her clothes to tumble alone, figuring she could find some entertaining company in the coffee shop.

So far her choices had been play solitaire, or strike up conversation with Joy.

Oh well, maybe her luck would change. Maybe she'd even win this game too.

Lucas was putting his cooking skills to good use in helping Jazz with a surprise for his uncle. It was his 37th birthday afterall, and while Thomas was at a meeting in La Fee Verte, Jazz had asked Lucas to help her surprise him.

Finally everything ready food-wise, Lucas washed his hands and took a look at the clock in the small screen of the microwave oven.

"Jazz? You cool now?" he called out to the next room. "I really don't want to be here to witness whatever you and Thomas do on a special day - eewww - so I think I'm gonna get my stuff and go. And don't worry, I won't be here until tomorrow afternoon."
( Read more... )

Summary: It's Avery's birthday and Lucas and Jazz decide celebrations are in order whether Tom likes it or not. Lucas handles the cooking, asks Jazz for some relationship advice and then scoots so Jazz and Avery can discuss cake, gifts, and job opportunities. Faded to black before the smut gets out of hand. :)

Nearing the end of her workday, Jazz was down on the sales floor, selecting a few pieces from the cases that she wanted to take with her to tomorrow's morning consultation and catching up with the staff as to how they're day had gone.

~.~

Adam was picking up the necessary ingredients for the spaghetti dinner he was hoping to make for Icene tonight. And also, on a whim as he for the headed for the checkouts, a bouquet of flowers.

Here was hoping it was one of her decent nights and not one of her work-all-night nights.

~.~

His sister's birthday coming up, Riley was wandering aimlessly. Where to start, what to look for? Really these sort of things should have gotten easier with age, but to Riley it only seemed to get harder and more confusing.

Sunday was a day for catching up and preparing for the working week ahead:

Adam was in the laundry room, carefully turning a set of camo inside out before tossing them into the washer with the rest of his colors; Joe paused to consult a grocery list as he stood in Michaels Bros. dairy section; Jazz took a break from her errands with lunch at the Auberge.

Exciting? No. But life couldn't always be.

Home. Finally. Jazz stood in the Lobby, bag at her side, gazing in the direction of the Mocha with a glazed expression, trying to figure out what she wanted and in what order.

Coffee, shower, sleep? Shower, sleep, coffee? Sleep, coffee, shower?

It was almost more than her travel addled brain could handle.

~.~

Outside, at one of the Mocha's garden tables, Joe sat in the shade, his glasses perched on his nose, a pencil tucked behind his ear, the morning paper propped up in front of him and turned open to the crossword.

Pondering a clue, he tore a piece off his muffin - dunking it gently into his coffee.