Mason Johanson Is a Falling Star (mutinous) wrote in repose, @ 2016-06-07 20:52:00 |
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Entry tags: | *log, janus allen, mason johanson |
log: church - janus and mason
Who: Janus and Mason
What: Coffee!
Where: The church
When: Evening
Warnings/Rating: N/A
The back of the church housed a few small, recent editions. These included a small bedroom, roughly the size of a walk-in closet; a washroom; a pantry; a sitting area with two chairs and a reading lamp; a kitchen, with a stove and a refrigerator that worked and everything. Mostly these areas were for charitable overnights, a bed to offer to someone that needed one, a coffee pot to make a strong brew for the bereaved.
Mason wasn't making coffee in the machine, he had the kettle on the stove, heating up water to pour into a glass carafe. The carafe, unlike almost everything else in the church, looked brand new. He liked his coffee exceptionally strong and with a healthy spoonful of sugar, personally.
By the time his guest approached, the coffee was ready and sitting on the table, plunger down in the press, and Mason had his hip hitched against the counter, taking a short sip from a thick mug. The one in his hands was blue, and the empty one at the ready near the press was white, better quality, bone china salvaged from some decades-ago rummage sale. There were a lot of interesting objects hiding in the church, if a person looked a little.
The preacher was under six foot tall, and his fingernails were dark at the edges against the thick blue mug in his hands. His hair was scraped up, uncared for and unflattering as a rooster's, but he had warm, dark eyes, and a friendly way of looking over the top of his coffee. And he was glad to see Janus. That much was plain and unfeigned.
"Milk's in the refrigerator," he said. "Sugar's on the table."