Re: log: adrian and ren
His expression lapsed into mild calm. He was still groggy from sleeping, but it was easy for him to lapse into quiet thought. He wondered if boredom had made Newt's interest in him, if he ever had any, melt away.
"Thank you." He followed Ren toward the counter, mug still held, perhaps unnecessarily, in both hands. He felt quiet, still, quiet and strange, as if he was still dreaming. Walking helped him shake off some of the last dregs of grogginess. He kept pace with Ren, and he glanced up at him, sloe-eyed, marking his features.
"I was born here," he said. He could still smell peppermint wafting faintly from the mug. "But I grew up in Europe. England, mostly." He assumed that was the real question. He'd had enough sidelong looks in his time back in Repose to know his accent, however mild, stood out starkly. "Ren," he repeated. "Adrian." No awkward handshakes, since he was holding the mug.
If he felt anything just now, he might feel ill-at-ease with his own discomfort with making small talk. As much as he liked silences, they didn't often help a conversation along. Useless words, though, seemed like just too much effort to bother with. It only seemed worthwhile to ask questions he actually wanted to know the answer to. He continued along, a little behind Ren, tagging along obediently every step of the way. He was in no rush either to return to an empty room.
"Why are you working here?" he asked, as they peered in between stacks of books. He asked it as if the intervening questions went without saying - that no one ended up working at a coffee shop in a small town unless there was some reason for them to do so; a dream that had escaped, a dream to save for, a family business to save, a local institution to preserve, a destiny to hide from, a family to support.