Re: Log, coffeeshop: Ren S & Newt P
No, Newt'd never had sweet tea. He didn't, in fact, know it was called 'sweet tea.' He shook his head at the question, offering little more than a spray of red and an apologetic, lopsided smile. "I'm afraid not." He wondered at tea made from steeping in sunlight, and he wondered at tea taken without milk. "It hardly sounds like tea at all, really." But, he'd a rather firm idea of what constituted the beverage and what didn't, as most of his countrymen did. "It sounds lovely, though. I do like sweetness now and again." Unlike many Englishmen, Newt, however, was openminded, and he enjoyed having his horizons broadened. "Why is it Southern? You don't have it here?"
He glanced at the stool that Ren acknowledged with a wave, and he dithered a moment. He'd wait then, he decided. If someone came in to be helped, he'd sit. Otherwise, it seemed equally as rude to leave a man to make you tea without talking to him. "All right." Newt finally let himself sink onto his elbows. He propped his chin in an open palm as he watched Ren work and move about. This was one of those moments when, were he a better conversationalist, he'd have something to say.
Erm. "Did I ask you if you'd a favorite place you'd stayed?" That wasn't so badly done. Newt smiled in a nervous flutter of lips, his gaze having dropped to the countertop just before him.