Coffee and Conversation

[James Turner]

James had been out when he got Cassandra’s text. He knew she had wanted to talk; it hadn’t been that long of a time. He didn’t know what it was about, was it Court business or did she find something while she was setting up wards, or did she hear a juicy bit of intel. He didn’t have the negative association with that phrase that most people did thanks to not having much of a life of his own. He’d just been out getting necessities when he’d got the text. Groceries at his feet as he rode the bus, watching the comings and goings of everyday life. He’d built in slack time to let himself put everything away and get ready before she showed up.

He’d just been milling about setting up a pot of coffee, smoking a cigarette listening a record while a nature documentary played in the background on mute. This was relaxing for the Winter Monarch, other people had parties, athletics; he just wanted to sit down, smoke a cigarette, and listen to some music while watching the beauty of the world that had been taken from him.

He sighed and would wait until he heard her arrive, he’d set the half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray letting it burn as he’d answer the door. He was wearing his usual black slacks but was wearing a white button-up as he’d shift aside to let her enter, coffee mug already in his left hand steam drifting up as he blew off the top.

[Cassandra Reeding]

The scarlet-haired Winter makes her way over to John's home and anxiety is bubbling in her. Surely it was just her. Her brain has been wild with bottled up, raw emotions for months now, constantly putting away any bad thought, anything too heavy, too emotionally wrong. It's made her feel paranoid with that kind of anxiety that makes you think the worst is going to happen. And either she responds to it by letting it get to her, or she pushes it off nonchalantly, because the other option isn't viable, nor healthy. Of course, neither option was healthy.

Today was no different. She was making her way over to chat with John and she is going over the things she wants to talk about. There is the worry about things said at the Hollow, though... maybe she's cooled somewhat now that there has been some time. This isn't a confrontation, this is a check-in. And also, they don't often get time to just chat alone. She doesn't want to make things too heavy. Can she try gentle poking instead? Though, it would be nice to try and have a normal conversation. With too much overanalyzing, she's now gotten to the point where she has no idea what she actually wants to do or say. Sounds about right.

When Cassandra arrives, it takes her a good minute to knock on the door. Didn't she work through these kind of anxieties years ago? Moving here really feels like she did start over from square 1.

Her hip-length scarlet hair is braided loosely over her shoulder, wisps of hair tucked out to frame her face. She is dressed in a calf-lengthed, dark red wrap dress. The sleeves are long and flowy, much like the rest of the dress. It looks genuinely comfortable and perhaps even casual on her while managing to stay incredibly flattering to her curved figure. Her make-up is light, just her liner in a simple wing and a tinted red balm for her lips.

She finally does knock and when he opens the door, she takes a moment to look at him. A button down shirt? She must have caught him at a weird time as she'd expected a simple tee. Not that she'd never seen him in one before. It looked... nice on him though. She gives him a faint smile before walking inside. A slight shiver catches her at the feeling of his mantle, the nonsensical whispers that makes your mind trigger with memories. Never the ones you want.

"You look nice today," she says once they are out of the doorway. Weird thing to start with, but it was true. "I seem to have caught you out and about, I suppose, but still." Another smile which seemed genuine, at least, that one could tell with her ever shifting colors. Though she often tries not to mask too much around him.

[James Turner]

He stepped out of the door shutting and locking the door behind her, he motioned for her to have a seat as he shuffled over to turn down the record player before any conversation could happen but he didn't turn it off. This was just a conversation between friends right now after all. Looking down at himself as she commented on his dress as he slid the ashtray and open pack down the coffee table. He took a seat on the futon leaving room for her if she wanted it or the option of the side seat was available.


"Oh this? Uh, Thanks. Um. I just had a couple meetings and I had to go get groceries, plus uh, I have meetings later still." He gave a soft shrug though he didn't know why he got so tongue tied all of a sudden. He blinked rapidly for a second, trying to shake it off, write it off as stress. The mind finding the pathways it was used to, pushing him back to the outside where he belonged.


"Oh, uh, do you want a cup of coffee. I just made a pot. I have tea now too if that's more your speed. So what did you want to talk about?" He didn't want to make any presumptions, for all he knew this was a veiled excuse to make a social call, nothing abnormal about that. He didn't mind the company if they were ok existing in his bubble. A genuine smile on his face as well as the music played behind him and he took a slow drag on his cigarette. It was the smallest things sometimes.

[Cassandra Reeding]

She took a seat next to him, angling herself toward him. Music was something her ears would immediately tune to regardless of how soft it is. His choice of music was the kind she listened to growing up and it gave her a weird sense of nostalgia. At the same time, for her, those times were barely a decade and a half ago, compared to getting close to forty. They were technically near the same true age, weren't they?

The way he fumbles over his words a little makes Cassandra smile a little bit more. Though there is a recognition that she really has caught him in the middle of his day. It gave her a better idea of how to approach the... suddenly, she realized she actually had a few things to talk to him about.

"I hope I haven't interrupted your day too much," she knew he'd wave it off. It was a simple pleasantry after all, but a norm. "I have a few things actually and, well, it also wouldn't be terrible to have time to actually socialize." That's what she should be doing, isn't it? Socializing with him more, right? Friendship. Just two friends talking. Don't get weird.

"And coffee would be fine, thank you. I enjoy both depending on how bumpy the day has been. Relaxing in their own ways." Which was more than true. What to start with? Something likely easy. "I actually spoke to Anatole recently. He told me a vague bit about a project he's been working on and a motley along with it. He neither confirmed nor denied my speculations on the who, so I thought I'd have a gander at seeing what you knew about it." There is this playfulness to the smile she gives him that it is obvious she believes he is more than aware of it.

[James Turner]

He always enjoyed the way the light of her mantle shaded and changed the shifting patterns of her skin. Another blink and the thought was pushed to the back again, a soft shake of his head as he dismissed it as predicted. "It's fine, no trouble at all." Norm returned as he stamped out the end of his cigarette and let the butt stay discarded in the tray. He grabbed his coffee mug, took a sip and stood up.


He went, refilled his cup and got her coffee. "No, not a terrible time for that at all." His voice drifting in from across the room though faint. No need to push glamour into it if he didn't have to, not that he would be without tonight unfortunately. He sighed and came back in the room, setting Cassandras mug in front of her and retaking his seat with a sip.


"He did? What's the project?" John said over the rim of his mug before blowing over the top of it and setting it down, fingers swiftly slipped a cigarette between them, his other hand sliding into his pocket to pull out the Zippo he'd gotten for xmas. Looking up over the cigarette at her as he flicked the lighter open to start it. This was the dance, the back and forth, but why was the tempo wrong?

[Cassandra Reeding]

It felt oddly nice the moment he came back to join her. Like the correction of a weird absence that she wasn't quite fond of.

"Thank you," She says as she picks up her mug, bringing it to her face and closing her eyes to allow the scent to flood her senses for a moment. Her eyes open again, looking over him again as she blows gently upon the rim before taking a small sip. As always, reading him is nearly impossible if he hasn't given her cues, not that she is trying too hard to do so. She wished he'd smile again, hoped he'd smile again.

He wants to dance? There was a piece in her that wanted candidness. Well, she could choose to be candid. If it goes over poorly, it isn't like she couldn't revert back to what she is used to. "He is looking to expand the reach of the Freehold beyond the amusement park. Says he has resources in the midst of becoming more physical. Taking something belonging to the enemy to turn it into our own use."

She watches him for any visible cue of reaction. "I think it is a brilliant idea, something I have thought about more than once in regards to where this Freehold is headed. We are stagnated as we are and I think it is dangerous, given the history of this Freehold. He had also stated that the idea of repurposing something of the enemy's wasn't his. To me, it sounded like something you'd have thought of." She takes another sip of her coffee. This felt weird. Am I making this weird?

"So, are you part of it?" Her tone is very gentle, curious, not even slightly accusatory. As if, perhaps she could simply be mistaken and it wouldn't matter too much. Her shifting, colorful hues don't suggest otherwise either. Then again, if he did want to dance, it wasn't as if one couldn't dance around direct questions too.

[James Turner]

He sat there calmly and patiently as she spoke, slowly smoking his cigarette and drinking his coffee and she laid out the plans and scenario he was all to familiar with and asked her question outright. “It does seem like an idea that would originate from Winter. Yes, it was my idea. It’s been a concern of mine since I arrived. The Park is great, it’s good it can give our people employment and a common ground but when anyone new arrives they also need a place to reside. I just saw an opportunity, if it wasn’t me I’m sure someone else would have done it.

“Confirming suspicions?” He took another sip of his coffee. It wasn’t exactly a secret, if Anatole had told her about the project, he likely hadn’t said it was his idea to leave that to him. It’s not like they could hide it once it was up and running anyways and in a freehold this small word would likely get out. He took another sip as the cigarette burned slowly on the rim of the ashtray. That couldn’t be why she wanted to talk but they were just socializing right?

“Was that what was on your mind?” A raised eyebrow and he picked up his cigarettes again. The record player slipping to the next song as the album continued along in the background slowly revolving heading to its completion. Another puff of smoke drifting to the ceiling.

[Cassandra Reeding]

"It was a curiosity and something I wanted to see if you might want support with. I'm finding myself getting access to more resources than I had expected to." She purses her lips a little, before letting out a slow breath. "Crafting instruments pays better than actually playing one, it seems." She shrugs a little. "You are also someone I feel I can rely on to see faults in things that I don't. In general, I like having your advice, which is why I ask." Especially lately, where her mind is so confused with emotional thought. Too many intrusive thoughts to file away and not enough time to actually process them. Or no one to process them with, for that matter. Gerrit and John are the only people she feels she can really talk to and, for all of this, she can't.

She moves her mug down, resting it on her lap as she holds it, "I also wanted to check on you, talk to you, see where I can support you. As a courtmate, as a friend, as- whatever you need." There is a bit more of a softness to her. Inside, of course, she is bubbling. Her heart is racing, but she is trying to keep her breathing even and slow. There is just the tiniest extra wisp of breeze in her mantle. It isn't as if her words are false; they are completely true, but given...

"I've been..." worried about you. I care about you. "How are you?" Let me be a part of your world for a bit. Considering how much he occupies her headspace some days. It was odd, asking him suddenly made her realize that once in a while, it would be nice to be asked that. Her emerald eyes find his and she can't help but consider how much she likes them, gazing into them. And then she smiles a little, the music playing in the background giving those short moments of silence less edge.

[James Turner]

"It's going to need the whole Freehold's support, Meg might be down but we still have to take the Orchard itself before we can claim it as our own. It might be a bit duplicitous to push events that way but it needs handled and it'll benefit the freehold in the long run." He took another drag and set the cigarette down, sighing out the smoke as he stood up for one second to flip a switch on his stereo and plug a cable into his phone going from a whole album to something digital. So he apparently wasn't a total luddite, just a few steps behind.


"Lot more competition for playing than creating." He countered quickly, she shouldn't attribute it to her talent not being appreciated just the number of musicians fighting to claim the limited spots. "I appreciate that, it means a lot. Thank you." That was the root of it then, a wellness check. Make sure the King of Sorrows isn't drowning in them. Too late for that he was afraid.


She didn't say the worried about you but he had certainly heard it. Heard it and frowned, this had to be related to the conversation at Shire Hollow. Cynical, fatalistic, sad, his point of view could be described as those things and so much worse. Picking the cigarette back up as he smoked and thought on her question.


"I am." What else could he say, what else was he expected to say. Fine would be a lie. Good would be a lie. But bad would also be a lie, at least of late. He existed between those two halves for now. "That's it. I have responsibilities in both aspects of my life, they are fulfilling. Now I have good friends to share the good times and bad too. It's life. It has good, it has bad. I didn't mean to concern you back there.


"I try not to bring others into my own sorrow. He asked an honest question so I gave an honest answer. It's just not always pleasant hearing your friends talk that way, I understand. I just..." Don't dream anymore because I'll only be disappointed. Or worse, because you're afraid it will come true. "What about you? You have a lot on your shoulders now and I know that's not easy."

[Cassandra Reeding]

Watching him pull out a phone to change the music shouldn't have been funny, but it tickled something in her. Let's dance to joy, huh? It was funny to her just how relevant his song choices always seemed to be for him. Not funny. It made sense. You don't need to talk about your feelings if you can breathe it out through song, process it through song. Things can be bearable alone with music.

"It wasn't listening to you talk about it that worried me. I want you to talk about it. Life can be very unpleasant and so are a lot of our feelings. I don't ever expect you to censor that, nor do I want you to. It's..." She takes in a little breath, gripping a little tighter onto the mug, slowly letting it out, "It's listening to you blame yourself for what she did to you. I can feel it eating at you." And it isn't a look of pity or empathy she gives, but of pure sympathy. It's those kinds of feelings and thoughts that broke her and it almost took too long for someone else to tell her that.

"Just... sometimes the lie that we wanted it and deserved it feels better than the reality that we were victims, whether we realized it at the time or not. It feels better, but it causes more damage in the long run. It poisons our actual wants and dreams - the involuntary ones that we don't get to decide don't exist." She looks down then, "Why risk getting hurt when things are bearable the way they are, right?" Was that one for him or me? Both? "If you decide you do want something though," she looks up at him with a faint smile, "I'll be there with the bandaids. You don't have to do it all alone." It's selfish though, because part of her hopes that he might one day dream of her.

How am I? Being asked feels nice, up until she realizes she doesn't want to lie to him. "I'm existing in a state of perpetual emotional confusion because I'm working on not repressing how I feel, but also can't express what I feel at the same time." Simple and concise, right? It felt weird saying it out loud, but it also felt incredibly good at the same time. And she doesn't know why, but it also makes her laugh a little.