WHO: Elijah Hathorne & Ren Solitaire WHEN: Nowish. WHERE: Secondhand books & cafe. SUMMARY: Elijah has book & coffee needs and he's come to the right place. WARNINGS: None currently, will update if needed.
Work was normal. Perhaps the one thing in Ren’s life currently that felt absolutely completely normal. He showed up, he made coffee, he talked to people, he sold books, and even when he didn’t feel particularly like being friendly and over-sharing, which had been a lot recently, it usually didn’t matter cause either a) people wanted to talk about themselves, or b) they wanted recommendations for things, and Ren could talk books, coffee, theatre, and to a lesser extent music, for hours, days maybe, before he exhausted himself and would be required to dive into his own life. And nobody ever stayed in a coffee shop that long.
This particular morning felt quieter than normal, fewer people, which wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but it meant that he’d had more time to engage with his thoughts, and those weren’t always comfortable ones for Ren these days. Part of him was saying not to over-think things, and the other part of him was saying that he needed to spend a bit more time over-thinking it. And neither camp as they warred back and forth had been particularly useful to actually improving his life that much. So now, a few hours after he’d gotten to work, he poured himself a macchiato, no flavoring, and stuck a lid on it. Drinking coffee at work wasn’t strictly prohibited, but it wasn’t encouraged unless you were off the clock. It was a rule Ren had never really followed well and he wasn’t about to start today.
He took a sip and his eyes wandered to where he knew the self-help section was. It felt absurd to think that any of those books might have any real thing to say about his life or help him at all. He didn’t think they covered how to deal with a life-times worth of magical anxiety for instance. He wasn’t certain there was anyone here who could help with that. He glanced up as the bell over the door rang, slid the coffee cup out of sight, and reached over to straighten the black sweatshirt he’d paired with dark jeans for the morning. He didn’t think he’d seen the man who was coming in before, but then again, even going on his second year in Repose, he still didn’t feel as if he knew everyone who lived there.
“Morning,” he said without fanfare, not forcing any sort of easy-going smile. He wasn’t on a stage, so he didn’t have to pretend to feel an emotion he didn’t. It felt a little strange not to try, like he’d pulled off a mask, and the tendency to follow it up with a helpful statement or offer of assistance pushed strong.