Re: Sid + Sam, coffee shop
Yeah, Sam didn't get that anyone could tell she was off or weird or anything. Daniel hadn't told her about that, yeah? And everything she knew about vamps was through him. OK, she'd figured some of her own shit out in previous months, but it was mostly shit about how often she needed to eat to keep from snacking on the dog. If she knew someone could tell something was up just from being in the same room as her she woulda stayed home more. But, yeah, staying home really bummed her out in a big way, so maybe that was bullshit and she woulda gone out anyway.
Whatever.
She didn't know anything was up, and so she straddled the chair and rested her sweet coffee on the chair's uppermost rung.
Sam was shit at reading people, so she couldn't tell if this chick looked like she was generous with space or not. Most people weren't, even in this tiny little town, so that was Sam's default. Whatever. It was a place to sit and she would hang a little bit before going out to do what she really liked, which was to just run fucking free. A coffee shop wasn't made for chaos, and Sam had felt hella chaotic since the bite. She hid it mostly, because no one wanted that shit from a moms and wife or whatever, but it still made her fucking itch on the regular.
"Nah, I got plenty of relatives and you aren't one." Which was just meant to be blunt, huh? Not judging or anything. "I got three sibs in town and their significant others, and their kids, and yadda yadda on and fucking on, not to mention fam-friends, which are as good as fam sometimes. Anyway, I'd know. Congrats, baby, you aren't an Alexander." She took another sip of mostly whipped cream, and she smiled a gappy and don't-give-a-fuck grin. "Been here long?"
At this point, Sam felt like an old-timer in this place. She'd seen names come and go, and she'd seen new names replace them. This place was small, but it was like some fucking bus stop on the road of life or some shit. She wasn't sure what that said about people who stuck around, but Sam didn't care so much about that philosophical shit. Life was what she could touch and taste, and she couldn't do either of those things with philosophy.
"Sam. My old man owns the art store." Because that was a better way to define yourself in this place than anyone else, huh? What you did. "My bro owns the antique store. My sis owns the bakery, which is closed right now since she just popped out a baby, and my other bro works at the bookstore." Which, yeah, shared space with this coffee shop and she pointed over to where the books were. "So, that's us."