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xp_logsA morning in the city has Beatrice and Haller catching up at a cafe.
The sidewalk bustled past with the sheer annoyed determination Bea had come to find in the single pedestrians of the city. They had places to be and wouldn't break their focus. Carefully she worried her lower lip gently as her eyes followed one man, long stride taking him beyond the eyeline her seat on an outdoor bistro set offered her. She sat a little straighter, eyes making her way through the crowd. Just in case.
Her gaze fell on a different familiar man, causing her to start slightly, one hand coming up to wave at the tall man as she released her lip from between her teeth. "Oh, hello David! Are you," her cheeks burned, "are you busy? If you're on your way to work, you don't even have to worry about responding, sorry I didn't think about that at all."
Even with his attention actively requested Jim almost didn't see her. It wasn't only that the blonde was more than a foot below his eyeline; her body language was self-contained, almost constricted, in a way that enabled her to melt into the background. A woman who had grown used to making herself as small and unobtrusive as possible, he thought. It was startling to see her outside the mansion alone.
Startling, but not a bad thing. Jim smiled. "Oh, Beatrice -- sorry, you surprised me there. No, I was only in for the morning today. Is everything okay?"
A slow smile spread. "I, uh, did some work with X-Factor Investigations, uh, where Arthur - er, Mr. Centino works and. . . and found me." Bea cleared her throat, thin fingers wrapping around the thermos in front of her. "It's really nice honestly."
She perked up a beat, suddenly motioning to the chair opposite her. "Please, have a seat, they have lovely tea if you drink it. They have this blend called Duchess Grey and it's quite good. Or coffee, if you prefer that. Americans are obsessed with flavored coffees, I've found out. And if the cups weren't so big I'd love to try them, but it's so much caffeine and sugar. Uh, sorry, all this to say, I wouldn't mind company, if you're not busy. There's so many people, all the time, here." A deceptively bright giggle slipped out as her blue-green eyes pleaded to blue and brown.
"Yeah, of course." Jim pulled up a chair and set his battered satchel on the table in front of him, safe from the kicking feet of passersbys. "Arthur told me you went to Pennsylvania with the team," he said, meeting her nervousness with enthusiasm cast like a fishing line. "How was it? For you, I mean."
"I went to a church,” the statement was less firm, taking instead the form of a confused confessional to the man who’d helped question her upon her arrival. “I don’t think I’ve ever been to one of those before. I don’t think I was as much as a help as they thought I’d be, which. . .which I feel bad for, but I’ll try better.”
Jim blinked. "Sorry, you've never been to -- a stakeout, or a church?"
"Which, uh, which..." her soft voice edged in embarrassment trailed off, face hot as she looked back down to her drink. When she looked back up, there it was, the desperate urge to please, to say what David hoped she would. "Which is less the norm?"
Jim reddened immediately. They flushed at each other like a pair of embarrassed fireflies matching each others' signals.
"I'm, I'm sorry. Religion's none of my business. I shouldn't have asked, I don't even think about it because I'm not very . . ." Jim saw himself heading towards an endless roundabout of stammered apologies and forcibly reined himself in. "Never mind. Anyway, the stakeout sounds interesting," he concluded, only slightly desperate.
"I'm sorry," the whisper was automatic, nerves winning. But at the mention of the job, the anxiety lifted, perking up as her smile spread slowly. "Oh it was, David. I don't... I mean, it's something that I think I could be good at, if that makes sense. I want... I want to help, but it's definitely easier if I'm good at it too, right?"
This time her laugh was softer, amused with herself. Before she cleared her throat, ducking down to sip from her drink. "Thank you, for sitting with me."
"Not a problem. And I'm glad. That you've found something that might fit, I mean. That can be difficult when you don't have a 'traditional' work history. Have you decided-"
"Good afternoon, folks, are you ready to order?"
A server insinuated himself into the scene with the glossy unctuousness demanded of those whose livelihood depended on tips. His tone was light, but he had the thousand yard stare of a man who'd already endured countless order substitutions.
The interruption startled the blonde, eyes widening, tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth before she giggled nervously. “Oh, yes, so sorry, thank you-“ what other platitudes could she possibly stick into a sentence? "I'll have a Duchess Grey, and I, sorry, I brought my own thermos, if it's not too much, and what'll you have, David?" Already she'd turned to chewing on her lip as her gaze turned to him, hands moving to pat her pockets before she paled.
"Oh... Oh, I'm so sorry, actually, I don't... I don't have a wallet on me." She whispered the admission, eyes dropping to the table as color flushed her face. "I'm sorry."
The server's eyes automatically moved to Jim, who didn't need to be a telepathy to see the thought You were going to make her pay?
The counselor's hand, weighted down by second-hand mortification and centuries of cultural expectation, instantly moved to his wallet.
"Don't worry about it," he said, "I'll get it. Uh, I'll just have a cup of your house coffee, black, please."
The server jotted the order in his notepad. "Very good," he said, and disappeared in a flash of veneers.
Embarrassment still high in her cheeks, Bea desperately tried to say something, mouth opening and closing before she firmly shut it and looked down. Shame and shock bleeding off of her as she tried to collect herself.
"Thank you," she mumbled, hands wringing in her lap as she finally looked back up. "I'm sorry, but thank you. I... no one's ever done that for me before."
"Don't worry about it. Seriously." Jim leaned across the table, drawn forward to fill the space as she shrank into herself. His smile was lopsided, but gentle.
"You're not in trouble," he assured her. "Remember, if you need anything from us, just ask. Anytime, anywhere. That's what we're here for. Okay?"
She stared at him for a moment, teeth slowly loosening their hold on her lower lip before a nod followed. "Okay."
The sidewalk bustled past with the sheer annoyed determination Bea had come to find in the single pedestrians of the city. They had places to be and wouldn't break their focus. Carefully she worried her lower lip gently as her eyes followed one man, long stride taking him beyond the eyeline her seat on an outdoor bistro set offered her. She sat a little straighter, eyes making her way through the crowd. Just in case.
Her gaze fell on a different familiar man, causing her to start slightly, one hand coming up to wave at the tall man as she released her lip from between her teeth. "Oh, hello David! Are you," her cheeks burned, "are you busy? If you're on your way to work, you don't even have to worry about responding, sorry I didn't think about that at all."
Even with his attention actively requested Jim almost didn't see her. It wasn't only that the blonde was more than a foot below his eyeline; her body language was self-contained, almost constricted, in a way that enabled her to melt into the background. A woman who had grown used to making herself as small and unobtrusive as possible, he thought. It was startling to see her outside the mansion alone.
Startling, but not a bad thing. Jim smiled. "Oh, Beatrice -- sorry, you surprised me there. No, I was only in for the morning today. Is everything okay?"
A slow smile spread. "I, uh, did some work with X-Factor Investigations, uh, where Arthur - er, Mr. Centino works and. . . and found me." Bea cleared her throat, thin fingers wrapping around the thermos in front of her. "It's really nice honestly."
She perked up a beat, suddenly motioning to the chair opposite her. "Please, have a seat, they have lovely tea if you drink it. They have this blend called Duchess Grey and it's quite good. Or coffee, if you prefer that. Americans are obsessed with flavored coffees, I've found out. And if the cups weren't so big I'd love to try them, but it's so much caffeine and sugar. Uh, sorry, all this to say, I wouldn't mind company, if you're not busy. There's so many people, all the time, here." A deceptively bright giggle slipped out as her blue-green eyes pleaded to blue and brown.
"Yeah, of course." Jim pulled up a chair and set his battered satchel on the table in front of him, safe from the kicking feet of passersbys. "Arthur told me you went to Pennsylvania with the team," he said, meeting her nervousness with enthusiasm cast like a fishing line. "How was it? For you, I mean."
"I went to a church,” the statement was less firm, taking instead the form of a confused confessional to the man who’d helped question her upon her arrival. “I don’t think I’ve ever been to one of those before. I don’t think I was as much as a help as they thought I’d be, which. . .which I feel bad for, but I’ll try better.”
Jim blinked. "Sorry, you've never been to -- a stakeout, or a church?"
"Which, uh, which..." her soft voice edged in embarrassment trailed off, face hot as she looked back down to her drink. When she looked back up, there it was, the desperate urge to please, to say what David hoped she would. "Which is less the norm?"
Jim reddened immediately. They flushed at each other like a pair of embarrassed fireflies matching each others' signals.
"I'm, I'm sorry. Religion's none of my business. I shouldn't have asked, I don't even think about it because I'm not very . . ." Jim saw himself heading towards an endless roundabout of stammered apologies and forcibly reined himself in. "Never mind. Anyway, the stakeout sounds interesting," he concluded, only slightly desperate.
"I'm sorry," the whisper was automatic, nerves winning. But at the mention of the job, the anxiety lifted, perking up as her smile spread slowly. "Oh it was, David. I don't... I mean, it's something that I think I could be good at, if that makes sense. I want... I want to help, but it's definitely easier if I'm good at it too, right?"
This time her laugh was softer, amused with herself. Before she cleared her throat, ducking down to sip from her drink. "Thank you, for sitting with me."
"Not a problem. And I'm glad. That you've found something that might fit, I mean. That can be difficult when you don't have a 'traditional' work history. Have you decided-"
"Good afternoon, folks, are you ready to order?"
A server insinuated himself into the scene with the glossy unctuousness demanded of those whose livelihood depended on tips. His tone was light, but he had the thousand yard stare of a man who'd already endured countless order substitutions.
The interruption startled the blonde, eyes widening, tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth before she giggled nervously. “Oh, yes, so sorry, thank you-“ what other platitudes could she possibly stick into a sentence? "I'll have a Duchess Grey, and I, sorry, I brought my own thermos, if it's not too much, and what'll you have, David?" Already she'd turned to chewing on her lip as her gaze turned to him, hands moving to pat her pockets before she paled.
"Oh... Oh, I'm so sorry, actually, I don't... I don't have a wallet on me." She whispered the admission, eyes dropping to the table as color flushed her face. "I'm sorry."
The server's eyes automatically moved to Jim, who didn't need to be a telepathy to see the thought You were going to make her pay?
The counselor's hand, weighted down by second-hand mortification and centuries of cultural expectation, instantly moved to his wallet.
"Don't worry about it," he said, "I'll get it. Uh, I'll just have a cup of your house coffee, black, please."
The server jotted the order in his notepad. "Very good," he said, and disappeared in a flash of veneers.
Embarrassment still high in her cheeks, Bea desperately tried to say something, mouth opening and closing before she firmly shut it and looked down. Shame and shock bleeding off of her as she tried to collect herself.
"Thank you," she mumbled, hands wringing in her lap as she finally looked back up. "I'm sorry, but thank you. I... no one's ever done that for me before."
"Don't worry about it. Seriously." Jim leaned across the table, drawn forward to fill the space as she shrank into herself. His smile was lopsided, but gentle.
"You're not in trouble," he assured her. "Remember, if you need anything from us, just ask. Anytime, anywhere. That's what we're here for. Okay?"
She stared at him for a moment, teeth slowly loosening their hold on her lower lip before a nod followed. "Okay."
