Who: Ariel Bhagat & TJ Jung Where: Brewed Awakening When: Sunday, July 5th; afternoon What: Missing Stonewall’s memorial service Warnings:N/A
“An iced caramel macchiato for Mark?” TJ called out before setting the aforementioned drink on the counter. It was snatched up with a quick thanks and the patron left the shop, leaving it empty and quiet save for the lone student typing away on her computer in the corner. All in a day’s work, he thought while dusting his hands off.
Too bad the day was only starting. TJ leaned back against the counter and glanced at the clock. “Do you think the memorial service will still be running after we get off our shift?” he asked Ariel.
Ariel shrugged. "I'm rostered on until closing," she supplied as she busied herself with wiping down the counter. Not that it really needed it. "So I probably won't make it." Though she didn't tell him that she'd asked to be put on for the whole day. There were some things that were difficult enough to articulate to herself, let alone someone else. "But if you wanna go, I could probs handle the super rowdy Kent girl alone?"
"All day? Man, that's a bummer. At least you'll be making bank," he offered his sympathies, laughing to himself as he pretended to make cash rain down on his coworker, although it looked more like he was just directing some very enthusiastic spirit fingers her way. Too bad they only made minimum wage. Crossing his arms, TJ shook his head and replied, "It's okay, I'll go after I clock out. You don't want to go?"
"I— It's in the chapel."
"Ohhh." He nodded along, but tried to parse out that sentence in the silence that followed. Finally he admitted, "I don't get it."
"Ummm— Okay." Ariel began, putting down the cleaning cloth. "So, my parents are like… I— How familiar are you with the Church of Mortal Souls?"
He never researched them extensively, but the name tended to reach his social media feeds on a regular basis. “Aren’t they the group that hates on metahumans? Oh,” he cut himself off and stared at Ariel. After a moment he raised a hand to gesture vaguely at her, “but you’re, you know. Metahuman.”
"Yeah." She shrugged, turning her gaze away. "And they aren't."
It was starting to become clearer. No, not really, but he could tell there was some baggage she was carrying about her parents. “That sucks,” he said eventually. “My parents aren’t either, but they’ve always loved me a lot, which is nice in its own way. It sucks too, since I’m here, but you know, there’s a lot of things about this that sucks.”
He shrugged in turn. “If you want, we can still do something for Paul, like visit the memorial walls in the Atrium, or we can have dinner together. The Commissary finally has refried beans again! Now our six-layered dip can become a seven-layered dip.”