"A drink as big as my head? You're on, girl." Because Quentin would drink that and just keep right on trucking, all things considered. He was picky about his coffee, but this time of morning, any sort of caffeine would do. Unlike Roxy, he planned on going home and crashing after this, whenever that ended up being, as he didn't have any plans for the day. That was the bonus of being his own boss, so to speak. He had commission work to finish, yes, and plans for a show at the gallery, but it was all done on his own terms. Were he back home, his mother would try to influence him, to change him, so no. Quentin wasn't having any of that. He was happier where he was, thank you very much.
He just grinned as Roxy dragged him over to the barista, waiting for her to finish before giving his order. "A large iced latte, nonfat, with five shots." He paused, "No, it's early, six shots. And tack a bagel onto that as well. With cream cheese." He grinned at Roxy. "Thanks for breakfast." It didn't matter who ended up paying because Quentin never cared about money, mostly because he didn't have to. Rich parents had to be good for something, and as long as he wasn't doing anything stupid, his parents didn't care what he spent it on. He could have been a lot worse in that regard.
Before they sat down at the table, Quentin grabbed three straws. One for Roxy, one for him, and one for him to play with while they were sitting there. He knew his powers; once he started telling her everything that was going on - as per her request - his telekinesis was probably going to act up. Roxy was one of the few people who knew that he was a clairvoyant as well as a telekinetic, and it wasn't exactly something he enjoyed talking about. Roxy only knew because she'd seen him drunk and sad over Calista and Kevin. "Well, someone's eager," he said, glancing out the window again to see if Willie had caught up to him yet. It was only a matter of time before the seagull found him. "So, let's start at the beginning. It's - kind of a long story." He spun the extra straw around his fingers, making it float just enough so it was hard to tell he was using his mind to do it. "Remember that painting I keep in my closet? The one I swore I'm never going to speak of ever again?" It was the painting that showed Kevin's death, Quentin's first realization that he was painting the future. "Well, it happened again. With another painting." He rubbed at his eyes with his free hand. "Calista was in it."