jaewalker (jaewalker) wrote in solsticerp, @ 2011-03-24 19:14:00 |
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Entry tags: | jane, july 1 2009, thomas |
Wednesday: Coffee or Tea?
Who: Jane and Thomas
Where: A coffee shop in Darkwater
When: Midday-ish
It seemed prudent, to Jane, to put in more applications, in the hopes of getting... well, maybe not a better job, but one that the crazies of the town who apparently wanted to torture and/or rape her didn't know she worked at. Even if she knew she'd never manage long at a coffee shop-- hence why she hadn't applied, before-- she dutifully went into Starbucks and Solid Grounds and this little hole-in-the-wall tea-joint to turn in applications. If she couldn't get a job here-- keeping it was another story-- she was well on her way to buying some beach-front property in Arizona.
Thomas was engaging in one of his favorite past-times: people-watching. One of his other favorite past-times - drinking tea - was also involved. He had a sketchbook and a pencil, a cup of tea and a half-eaten scone and a host of various faces to draw. He did it subtly, not staring at people and making obvious gestures. They were just little, quick things, too. Something for later reference, who knew? His mobile pinged: someone had sent him a text. He set his sketchbook and pencil down, retrieved his phone and used one hand to expertly scroll through and find the message.
Jane heard the phone, from where she stood at the counter, waiting her turn to get to the front like a good little girl, and she rolled her eyes. Of course people came to a little tea-shop to answer their cell phones... probably some teenie-bopper, still in junior high-- or maybe not, since it wasn't a stupid pop song for the ring. She looked around impatiently, wishing this didn't take so damn long, and spotted the guy with the cell phone in hand. And the notebook on his table. What, was he here to work, too?
Magda had sent news about some houses to view. The real estate agent had set up a few tours for the following day. Well, at least he'd have something productive to do. He couldn't stay in the hotel much longer. It was certainly elegant enough, but he wanted more space and he wanted it to be his. He smiled and typed back a quick response - Understood. Thank you. - and felt a pair pf eyes on him. While this wasn't the most unusual thing to occur, he wondered why the person was looking. Was it because of his mobile or because they knew him? He glanced up and met the gaze of a young woman with blond hair. He didn't recognize her.
The lack of recognition was mutual, and Jane found him meeting her gaze with some surprise and annoyance, and scowled at him. Then she turned her nose away, and finally stepped up to the register to turn in her application. And order a latte. So sue her, she wanted coffee, even if it was expensive and probably something she shouldn't waste her money on!
The woman scowled at him. He couldn't think of anything he'd done personally to offend her - unless she didn't like 'Handel's Water Music', which was what his mobile played when someone sent him a text. She was probably in a mood. He understood about moods, being prone to them himself. He watched her hand over a piece of paper and say something to the person behind the counter, then she ordered a drink, her expression still one of general displeasure. Thomas raised an eyebrow, curious. Maybe she'd rolled out in the wrong side of her bed this morning or maybe she was on her period. Human females - well, females in general - could be twitchy during that time of the month. He continued to watch her, because he could.
When Jane turned around, ready to head over to the pick-up counter to wait for her drink, the guy was still staring at her! Jane's glance had been brief, but now he seemed to think she ought to be stared at? She scowled at him again, and asked, once she was moved sufficiently to be out of line-- which meant closer to him, ugh-- "Got a problem?"
More scowling. Wasn't life, in general - for most people - short enough without going through it with that expression on your face? "No, not at all," he said, cultured and polite. He tucked his mobile away, but kept his eyes on the woman. "You, on the other hand, look like you want to hurt someone. Is your day really going that badly or do you always look so pissed off?" Thomas smiled. She could always dump her beverage on him, if she felt so inclined, though he doubted she would. Maybe she'd yell at him and stomp away. Maybe he could engage her in conversation and let some of that steam she seemed to have inside her boil off. Humans were still a strange lot, sometimes.
People giving critiques like that in a perfectly reasonable, even honeyed tone-- just like that-- tended to only get Jane even more angry. "Pissed off is my style. I try so hard to pull it off, I'm glad I got it right," she answered, with obvious and annoyed sarcasm. "Or maybe it's just that I don't like being stared at by random old guys in coffee shops." He had to be, what, forty? At least? And she was only twenty-two! It was creepy and oh, right, pissed her off.
His eyebrows rose gently. "'Old guys'? Are you seriously calling me 'old'?" If she only knew... Thomas continued to smile. "You do 'pissed off' very well, though I wouldn't recommend it all the time. Not if you're handing out resumes. Your face will be permanently stuck with that pinched look, and that just wouldn't do for customer service." He sighed. Young people. No matter what era, they had one thing in common: everyone who was an adult was old and knew nothing.
"Mister, you're probably at least twice my age," Jane snorted at him. While that might not have counted as "old" (she thought it did, though), it was way too old to be staring at girls her age! "As for my face, worry about your own." She managed-- barely-- to keep the rest of her comment behind her teeth. Going around saying she might smash faces in front of prospective employers was probably not such a great idea.
His expression became contemplative. "Well," he murmured. "That is very old, indeed. I don't tend to worry about my face, but then, I'm not looking for employment. You are though aren't you?" Thomas pressed his hands together lightly and tapped his fingers against his chin, thinking as he looked at the girl. "What sort of work are you looking for? And yes, I'm frequently this random."
"Coffee barista work. Obviously." Except totally not, if she'd had a choice. It was just all she was likely to get, that was all. And mister creepo wanting to know made her suspicious. "Something better than bagging groceries, I guess. What's it to you?" She picked up her drink, as it was set on the counter, and bobbed her head just a little at her prospective co-worker, though her attention was mostly on the guy-- whose name she didn't even know, but that she wasn't going to ask for, either. He didn't need encouragement.
Thomas shrugged. "If that's what you want to do with your time, then certainly, be a barista. Vivi la tua vita. Someone has to make your latte. I don't picture you behind the counter, though. Of course, it's none of my business." He picked up his cup of tea. "I'm just some random fellow, making an observation, curious to know what young people want to do with their lives." If he was 'old', then she could be 'young'.
Trying to tell him what she really wanted to do with her life wasn't about to happen. Not much was about to happen, actually. She snorted at him, sipped her latte, and then asked, "So what do you picture, huh?" It wasn't any of his business, but she was-- probably stupidly-- curious what he'd say. What would a scowler like her do, in the mind of a forty-something Brit?
He tipped his head a little to one side and considered her for a moment. Not in a lecherous way. Unlike some men in the world, he didn't let his dick control what he said or did with his time or how he handled interactions. Perhaps it was due to his long life span. It wasn't something he'd ever really understand from an outside perspective, because all he knew was who he was and that involved thousands of years of memories and learning, loving and loathing, joy and loss. This also meant he was usually a fairly decent judge of character. At least she was still speaking with him, despite her apparent dislike in engaging him in conversation. "I picture you doing something more active than standing behind a counter," he said. "Something physical or creative. You strike me as someone who would be bored with something mundane. Restless. That's... just my first impression, naturally."
Just because he didn't mean his examination in a lecherous way didn't mean Jane didn't still suspect him of it. She glared at him, while he looked her over, and snorted at his decision. "Yeah, I can imagine the kind of 'activity' you think I'm probably good for." Just like most men. While Jane had, had boyfriends-- and had even had sex a couple times-- she'd never been particularly satisfied with either the boy or the "activity", and certainly didn't seek it out. She added, just in case he wasn't a complete creeper, "And even if you don't, there's not exactly a lot of active jobs that aren't that sort of thing, out there for people like me." And she wasn't about to start selling herself. Ugh. She would never be that desperate.
Thomas blinked at her. "By the gods, how primitive do you think I am? For that matter, though outspoken, I don't consider myself that rude." He waved a hand. "No matter. I was thinking you might be into sports or some such. What do you mean by 'people like me'? You're young, seem fit and bright, and certainly have no difficulty speaking your mind. Do you type? Do you have a driver's license? Do you... know Kung-Fu?" He wasn't grasping at straws, per se, but he was trying to think of things she might do, because he had the time to sit there and sip his tea. He had that luxury.
"Since I don't know you from Joe Blow, you could be a complete asshole, for all I know," Jane shrugged at him. "And most people are, so don't go blaming me for assuming you're like everybody else." She sipped her latte and stared at him in mild disbelief. "Do I type? That's totally the last question I'd expect out of somebody who thought I should be active. Yes, I type, who doesn't? Though I'm not that great at it. Why, you looking for a-- a bodyguard-secretary, or something?" Yeah, right. As if she'd let Mister I'm-Not-Rude Brit hire her for anything!
Did the young woman have a chip on her shoulder or was he really being an arrogant bastard? He reviewed their conversation and decided he'd deal with it later, if he dealt with it at all. "An assistant, perhaps a body guard, but it'd probably be too boring for you. And I was asking what you can do, because you seemed to be seeking employment and I was attempting to be helpful." May the gods forgive him for trying. It was in his nature to attempt to assist Humanity, when possible, though it was frequently a struggle. It probably didn't help that he could be a bit... dominant in his approach. Thomas had another sip of his tea.
Now Jane really stared. She hadn't honestly thought he was looking to hire anyone, let alone her, and if he was telling the truth, it was completely irrational and illogical and insane. "You'd hire some random, bitchy kid out of a coffee shop. To be your assistant. And bodyguard." She laughed, a short, incredulous sound. "You are completely fucking nuts, mister. Off your rocker." Or else he was messing with her, which was, of course, supremely possible-- probably more likely than him being that crazy.
Thomas nodded, smiling slightly. "I've been known to do stranger things, but no, I wouldn't hire some random, bitchy kid out of a coffee shop or anywhere else, for that matter. I'd have a proper interview first and run a background check, because I might be random, but I'm not an idiot." he sighed. "I've also learned over time that assuming someone wouldn't be interested in trying something different and, therefore, not bothering to give them the opportunity to say 'no', is very narrow thinking." He pulled a business card out of his pocket and handed it to her. "And I wouldn't expect an answer in a coffee shop or anywhere else, either. Not if you're smart."
After only a beat of hesitation-- more from surprise and annoyance than from actual suspicion-- she took the card. She wasn't stupid enough to agree, but she had to admit she was curious, and she could always make a few phone calls about his name and see what came up. Maybe even put him into Google. Giving him a narrow glance after scanning his card, Jane asked, "Why me, then? You always ask random gals who look pissed off if they want to work for you?"
He shrugged. "Hardly. You caught my attention when you were at the register and actually came over to speak with me. That at least tells me you're not shy and you stand up for yourself. Those are good qualities." Thomas had another sip of his tea. "I suppose today is just.. one of those days. You caught me in a certain mood. You've dealt with me in a certain way. Look me up all you like. If you're curious to learn more, you can contact me, via mobile or e-mail, I don't care."
"You are one weird-ass Brit, Mister Thomas Shore," Jane told him, a little annoyed at his high-handed permission to look up information on him. It made her wonder if he'd scrubbed the net of anything bad, and if there were things he didn't want people finding out that he had hidden. It also made her scowl, shove his card into her pocket to worry about later, and take her latte elsewhere. "See you around, I guess. Or not." Probably not, but she guessed they'd see, wouldn't they?
"I am, yes." As a professional artist, he had a rather nice website, and as a member of various foundations regarding saving the earth and the supporting the arts, his name was scattered around the news periodically, both in print and on the Internet. "Life is too short to ignore someone when they cross your path. I chose not to ignore you." For Thomas, it was as simple as that. It was up to her, now, especially since he hadn't asked her name and she hadn't offered it. "So regardless of whether or not I 'see you around', I wish you all the best with finding employment."
Yeah, that wasn't totally condescending. Jane rolled her eyes as she passed him, and resisted the urge to flip him off over her shoulder. There was still the slight chance she might get hired here, after all. "Whatever," was all she said, and she swept out of the shop and towards her big, purple, gas-guzzling car. She had other applications to drop off. And apparently a name to look up-- because she didn't want the wrong sort taking an interest in her. More of the wrong sort.
Thomas watched her depart and returned to his sketchbook. It took him ten minutes of idle drawing before he realized that his subject was the scowling girl. She wasn't scowling in the picture, but she didn't look very happy. He sighed, closed his book and finished his tea. It was time to get on with the rest of his day.