Connor Callahan will taste the sun (bullet_scrip) wrote in musingslogs, @ 2011-04-06 13:48:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | rapunzel, revolution man |
Who: Connor and Isobel
What: A blind-ish date
Where: Reliquary
When: Wednesday (today) at 3
Warnings: Possible swearing and mentions of what happened in the maze at the Arbor party. Will update if anything significant happens.
Connor Callahan was bad at nervous tics. Whenever he tried them, he managed to fuck them up to some astounding degree. Upon getting coffee and a table in the hippie-love-pad that was Reliquary, he had started his first nervous tic – smoking. But he had barely pulled the cigarette out of the pack when the barista fixed him with a severe look, not even needing to say a word. Like a sulking child, Connor defected to his second tic – tapping the table. But that, too, was cut short by the severe looks he got from the people surrounding him. He cycled through a few more tics – toe-tapping, lip-smacking, finger-chewing, cell phone opening and closing – that were short-lived and easily discarded. None of them worked, anyway. He was still nervous.
The fact that he was here at all was upsetting in of itself. That maze was for people to do things and leave, to not have to think. And here he was, agreeing to meet some girl that clearly thought far too much and felt even more. Though he told himself he didn’t care, the hurt in her voice when he’d rebuffed her advances still struck a chord. He’d just wanted something no-strings, something simple. And he’d complicated it, somehow, and hurt someone.
Hurting ladies wasn’t sporting.
Fidgeting with his phone, he looked at the display. 2:58. It was 2:58 PM, two minutes until they were supposed to meet. He’d worn his black cap and gray jacket, as promised. And to his credit, he had actually washed and groomed a bit before going out. Cowlicks were trimmed with a pair of small scissors, teeth brushed and flossed properly. He even thought to make sure his fingernails weren’t filthy, as he had the strange habit of always collecting gummy crap underneath his fingernails. He wasn’t sure how it happened, but then again, he wasn’t sure how a lot of things happened. By now, he’d learned to stop trying to figure it out.
Swirling his coffee with his wooden stirrer stick, Connor sneakily reached into his jacket and pulled out a metal flask, expertly twisting the top off with just one hand. Holding the cap with two fingers, he tipped the flask into his coffee, filling the 2/3 full cup up to the top again. He inhaled slowly, the aroma of bourbon mixing with the heady scent of coffee. With a small smile, he recapped his flask and slipped it back into his jacket, taking a sip of his drink. He needed something to calm his nerves – despite his failed nervous tics, his hands were still shaking just slightly. Just a few gulps made him feel better, though he still sat on pins and needles whenever he could hear the door to the coffee shop open.