fandomtownies | The Perk; Thursday Afternoon.

George Michael came in for a cup of coffee, or two. He closed down the stand for lunch and just wanted coffee. Head bowed, he ordered it and took his large hot mug to an out of the way table. There he would sit and drink it and contemplate his young life, such as it is.

Eyes lifting from the page of Heinlein and through the steam still drifting up from her carefully cradled mug, Adah probably couldn't ignore the coffee shoppe's newest patron if she tried. The way he carried himself, the way he moved, the aura some might say (but not Adah, since she didn't believe in things like that, but their concepts worked well for comparisons) just seemed to demand a moment of her attention, to stare, with scrutiny, below a quirked eyebrow. The weight of the whole world on his frail, tiny spread of shoulders, she was sure, or at least in his own mine.

Adah eyes drifted away slightly. Wait? What was that she heard? It sounded, perhaps, like tiny violins, playing the worlds saddest song. So sad, so tragic...

She smirked to herself. She couldn't tease people she didn't know, but it was only in her own head, and distractions like that were what made it worth going out in public sometimes.

George Michael began to sort out his problems, unaware that he was causing a distraction for someone else.

"What if she was? I would run, no, wait, I wouldn't. I wouldn't. But she's older right? Her biological clock must be ticking. Like a timb bomb. Does she want... no... oh god." he rubbed his brow. "I'm thinking too much. It's too hard."

Oh, Dog. Adah sunk slightly in her comfortable chair to better hide the increasing smirk as the distressed soul started to leak. She'd never understand it; it reminded her almost of Rachel, complaining just to hear the sound of her own voice. But slightly different. She'd never comprehend how people with, assumingly, a perfectly whole, completely working brain seemed to have such difficulty just keeping things inside of it. She really should have some sort of respect for people's personal space, but...well, it was a public sphere, and Adah had no shame. Besides, it was his own fault for making his ramblings so intriguing. She placed a folded piece of paper into the crease of the book; a nudge of her shoulder closed it in her lap and she curled around her tea. Space travel could wait; she'll just put off giving it to the Eel to finish it. It was time to hopefully eavesdrop on what she was hoping would be some interesting neurosis.

After taking a sip of coffee that burned the tip of his tongue, George Michael focused down at the steaming brown surface. "Take extra precautions. How do you do that? There are times when spontaneity rules my head and I just lose control of -- maybe I should see someone. Maybe I should talk to Stan the doctor man." He snorted. "Wait. What? There's nothing wrong with me. I'm young. I just don't want a babymama yet. Is that so wrong? I just got divorced..."

Definitely more entertaining than space travel. Adah carefully sipped at her tea, after blowing a little onto it to cool it slightly, and comfortably settled in to listen to more rants, should there be more. Even if there wasn't, it had been more than sufficient so far. Did he even realize he was talking to himself? In a public place? Where people...ghosts, perhaps; it wouldn't be the first time Adah'd been a ghost...would hear his ramblings about spontaneity, babymama's, divorce. It wasn't so much the subject matter that surprised her and lifted a little bit of doubt in the validity of these ravings. People in Kilanga who where younger than her when she moved there had families. It was more the source than the situation.

Mostly he kept his rambling out loud to the quiet time he spent in his morning showers. Today was an exception to that rule. Today was way too big for him to keep his minds mouth shut. Last night had not gone well. Tonight might not go well either -- "How can I compare to a billion other guys? I hardly know what I'm doing. I kind of miss Ride the Pony. And maybe the money." He paused, took a sip of coffee. "No I don't. What am I saying? I love her, I really do. I'm nineteen. Only nineteen."

Adah's head tilted a little in satisfaction as her suspicion that he couldn't be a day over twenty had been confirmed. She sipped her tea; she should introduce this guy to Orleanna. Ah, the siren call of fertile, apparently easy older women, indeed. How many lives, she wondered in her overspeculating and dramatics-driven mood, have been shattered by their time-tuned wiles, indeed? How many other nineteen year old divorcees were talking into their coffee in small shopped with comfortable chairs at this very moment. You wouldn't get a show like this in Africa; no, there people worried about stepping out of their door and getting shot, or of finding dinner to feed their family. Only in places like America could someone bear witness to something like that. Adah sort of hated how fascinated she was by it. But she also loved it.

"I will not become like Uncle GOB. I won't. I won't steal someone elses girl, either." Though George Michael shuddered over the slight thought of Ann. What had he been thinking?

Pushing his cup aside, he rested his head in his hand once more, but just as he was doing that, he noticed someone else in the shop. A girl. A slight girl who was staring at him.

His face turned a million shades of red.

Ah, yes, and it was moments like that, shades of red those colors that only occur at times like this, those rare expressions of realization where every thought that had previously been spoken spanned the extent of a human face, that made listening to all those inane ramblings worth it. Unable to keep a nearly triumphant, though crooked, grin from her face, Adah thought to give the boy a small wave, but the mug of tea in her hand prevents that. So, instead, to acknowledge him and the fact that, yes, she'd heard thing, she lifted her mug, almost in a toast to his excellent melodrama, and a nod of her head. Thank you for the entertainment; take your bow. Encore! Encore!

George Michael was stunned into immobility. He swallowed and tried to focus on being friendly. That yes, it was okay she heard; that she didn't know who he was; that he was just any Joe-Bloke off the street who came in for a cup of coffee. All of that except for the mere fact that his shirt had the banana stand logo embroidered on the upper left breast pocket. He shifted now, trying to hide that fact as he made his hand move, up it went as he sort of moved it in a semblance of a wave.

He felt an explanation was in order. "Sometimes I talk to myself..." Uhhh. Yeah, even his ears were burning. He was completely on fire and it didn't help that, to give him something to do with his hands, he picked up his coffee and took a big gulp.

Oh, really? Adah's grin spread a little more as her head tilted in curiosity. And here she thought this whole time that he had a magical cup of coffee that he could confide in. She bit her lower lip for a moment as she kept her eyes on him; there was a small, silent laugh as she figured that she should perhaps let off a little. It wasn't as if he could get any more awkward. Or could he? She should never rule things out, so she kept her gaze steady even as she imitated his move of taking a sip of his drink.

She was grinning at him. Great. He's made a gigantic fool of himself and it's going to be on the radio and Mary's going to hear it and, yeah, great. George Michael inwardly groaned and looked down, then back at her, then down again until he just couldn't help but keep his eyes on her. He chuckled nervously. "Usually I'm private, you know, with the talking to myself. I'm reflective when I drink coffee ..." He should just get up and go. Get up and go right now. "... I'm on my lunch break."

It became pretty clear, in the fact that he kept talking well after the whole ordeal of switching his eyes back and forth, forth and back, that this was a case of a person with a lot on their mind, willing to talk to anything that would listen and wouldn't talk back. Just to get it out, without judgment, and that's why he was talking to her now instead of the coffee. She would judge, but the judgment would be silent. When she realized that she wasn't immediately annoyed or offended by this, her nose wrinkled and she realized that she was getting way too social. Her eyes drifted toward where she knew a clock hung on the wall, to see what time it was, before they drifted back and resumed a cool, unassuming look toward the babbling young man. She wasn't quite sure what she meant by it, so she wasn't sure what she was conveying. She'd felt that she would normally use the look to say, well, then, better get going. Wouldn't be late. Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out because when things went from eavesdropping to directly being talking at, she usually got annoyed. She wasn't really feeling much of that today. Maybe there was something in the tea.

His eyes, did in fact, follow her's, and he noticed the clock, took note of the time. George Michael stood abruptly, hand moving to the back of his neck in a shy sort of fashion as he glanced at her, then at the door. "I'm sorry if I offended your quiet." Then he made a beeline out of there. Work was work and he had to be back at it.

Damn his rambling.

Evie was in the middle of the flurry of packing when she found her Christmas gift (http://www.nytimes.com/2007/08/10/books/10book.html) to Adah, and realized she hadn't seen the other girl in some time. She went in search of her in the dorm, and not finding her there, set out to see if she was somewhere in town.

Fortunately, the need for caffiene had her in the obvious places. "Adah! At last! Happy late New Year!"

Adah arched an eyebrow at the entrance of the E Ive. If there was such a thing as the Fates, as a greater plan, it had been written with foreshadowing in mind, because her imaginary little sibling's aunt's arrival was just a perfect epilogue to the ramblings she had been listening to earlier, that was for sure. She let the moment of the arched eyebrow linger before as let a slow smile surface and nodded, bobbed her head in response to return the well wish back to the E Ive.

"And a Merry late Christmas," Evie added, sitting down at the nod and handing over her foil-wrapped package. "I don't know how it ends, because it's set in the future for me, but I thought you might like it, and it would give you an idea of what Cairo is like." She bounced up from her seat and went to get a mochachino, then returned, saying, "I have to have as much as possible before I leave!"

So much for not knowing what the gift was until it was opened; Adah couldn't help shaking her head in a sort of quiet amusement as she faltered in keeping up with the E Ive again. There one minute, gone the next, but at least it gave Adah a chance to set her tea aside and unwrap her book, give it a glance, and then she realized that the E Ive had returned and she quirked an eyebrow at the comment. As much caffeine as possible? Hasn't she had enough?

Evie happily slurped her mocha, then settled back in with a sigh. At Adah's inquiring expression, she explained. "I'm leaving tomorrow. I'd meant to catch you earlier and let you know, and give you my direction so you could contact me in case of--" She mimed a very large belly, then hissed, "developments!" She took a breath, giving Adah a tragic look. "You *will* write as soon as things are announced, won't you?"

Oh, that gesture was just...magical, really. Fighting against a grin, a laugh, her usual stony disposition having crumbled so much since she transfered here, Adah gave a firm, slow, unmistakable nod. Any developments, the E Ive would be the first to know. Well. The third, after Orleanna and Adah themselves.

"Oh, thank heaven. I shan't tell Jonathan anything until we're certain, then." Her face fell a little, and she stirred the foam of her drink with the stirrer. "He's been through rather a lot. The doctors are calling it shell-shock. He was shot in the leg, and is using a cane for now. I'd love to give him good news, but... I honestly don't know what would make him happier about this."

Her eyebrow quirking, Adah couldn't help but tilt her head with an intrigued look. A cane, huh? She cleared her throat a little, and commented, "A limp," and then watched the E Ive for a reason, to see if she'd make the association she was making.

"Yes." Evie looked at her, then got it, palming her face. "I don't know if Jonathan would appreciate the mental comparison I just made." She shook her head. "But that's unfair to even attempt. Apples and oranges; the war he went through, and your condition occurring at birth."

"A different kind of battle," Adah offered lightly, tilting her head with a small smile. She blamed an overexposure to River for talking in the short, observing phrases. She wasn't quite sure what to blame for the fact that she was talking. Laziness, probably. Sloth was her sin of choice as of late, and getting out a notebook to write on was too much of a bother. She cleared her throat again; if she was going to talk, she'd talk, and try to not talk like River, out of an insistence to refrain from assimilation. "I'll definitely write, though, if you leave an address. How's your French?"

"Excellent!" Evie enthused. "To both! Le Français est ma deuxième langue, depuis la naissance!*" She tilted her head, and added, "It shan't be the same, to receive letters, but in a way it will remind me more strongly of you, since you have used that so often instead of speaking." She frowned. "You're doing that much better, I must say."

* French is my second language, since birth!

"Much better than what?" Adah asked, eyebrows frowning. True, she didn't speak as well as she thought, but that was true with everyone. Overall, though, Adah liked to think for the most part, beyond that absurd accent, she spoke rather well. She just didn't speak often.

"When we first met, and you refused to speak at all," Evie said blithely. "Which was very appropriate for the library, and rather mysterious. And *utterly* you, of course. But I'm glad you're not indulging in it all the time, now. I always felt I should write back to you, and I simply *can't* write fast enough."

And, well, the E Ive could certainly talk fast enough, that was for sure. Adah gave a small nod of her head and commented simply, "I'm going to be getting novellas back from you, aren't I?"

"Well, Yes," Evie admitted, shrugging just a little, then smiling wide. "But you are perfectly free to read at your own leisure. You probably will hear from me in bits and pieces, depending on the post in London and Cairo. It will be spotty for a bit, until our location gets ironed out. I do so hope we can return to Egypt this fall." She perched her chin on her hands. "But I shall miss this place. Not the vampires, or the trolls, or the random attacks. But the things I've begun to take for granted, like not having to fight anyone about being an archaeologist. Ah, well. It's a worthwhile fight."

Adah drew in a little breath, with a small smile, at that last bit, giving a tiny nod. "Definitely worth it," she said, knowing her own upcoming struggle. What was it her father said about a girl going to college? Like water in shoes. It stays in and you can't wear them, or it all leaks out and you're left with ruined shoes. Add being crippled to the whole mess...

Yeah. Adah definitely understood, and gave the E Ive a rare, encouraging smile. "Good luck."

"And you as well. Oh!" Evie grabbed one of the bits of wrapping paper, and wrote down her address in London, then the general postal delivery they used in Cairo. "Here is where you can write me. And call, too," she added, putting down a phone number. "In case of any emergency, or if you decide to visit." She smiled. "Forty years before your time, really, but still, there's things to see."

Adah eyed the E Ive with that smirkingly reserved amusement over the whole concept of her actually calling someone. "I'd love to see it."

Anne was already on her way out of town, her few belongings meticulously stowed in the rather capacious carpetbag she now clutched in both hands. But, catching sight of Evie as she made her slow way past the Perk -- drinking in her last few moments on this island -- she simply had to stop in and say goodbye to her friend.

"Oh, Evie, I'm so glad I didn't miss my chance to bid you a proper farewell," she said breathlessly, hurrying up.

"You're already leaving as well?" Evie asked in dismay. "Oh, I'd hoped to have more time!" She sighed and signaled the server. "My treat, then, since you're clearly on your way. Oh, you will write to me, won't you?"

"I'm afraid so," Anne said sadly. "Matthew isn't well at all, and Marilla's terribly worried. I simply couldn't bear to have it on my conscience if something happened and I wasn't home. I'm needed there, and Queen's Academy won't wait forever for me. But of course I'll write to you, if only you'll write back! You must tell me all about the places you'll be!"

"Jonathan's not doing well either, although I think that's just a matter of time," Evie said, trying to be optimistic. "And I shall! London for now, though I may talk my parents into Canada if I can." She gave Evie a hopeful smile, then dug into her pocketbook for a pad of paper and pencil. "But yes, about the books I'm reading, and the next dig, and how Jonathan is doing, and you must tell me about the Academy, in great, great detail."

"The Academy won't be half as interesting as London, I'm sure," Anne demurred. "But if I learn anything interesting at all, I'll be certain to share it with you, and we can compare notes on Greek and Latin, can't we?"

"But your friends shall no doubt be very congenial. I'm not as certain about Oxford," Evie said, a little intimidated at the thought already. "And yes! Greek and Latin, and history, too. Ancient history, in any event." She smiled a little. "And any new boys we should meet. Although I shall miss Sokka terribly for quite a while, I think."

"That's the one thing I'll miss about Fandom," sighed Anne. "The boys here were so nice, at least the ones I met. Teddy and Cedric and Johnny, to be sure. When I go home I'll have the dubious pleasure of dealing with Gilbert Blythe again. And you'll do fine at Oxford, I'm certain of it."

"I certainly hope so." Evie vaguely remembered the feeling of being married, but not anything else from the weekend they were all old. At least, she consoled herself, there was hope. She gave Anne a sad smile. "And I fully intend to buy your first book, and your second, and your third, when I am home. I'm certain they're on the bookshelves now."

That coaxed a merry laugh out of Anne, despite her growing sense of melancholy at having to leave. "I shall remember that when I'm in the depths of despair, wondering if my inspiration will ever return!" she assured Evie. "I'm quite certain they weren't on the shelves at Book Haven . . . and oh, I shall miss that place as well. There isn't anything like it in Avonlea. But your support and patronage will be much appreciated. Might I ask your permission to put you in one of my stories? Not necessarily as yourself, but someone inspired by you?"

Evie gave Anne a speechless look, delighted beyond words, then waved her arms around while she tried to find them. The best she could do was: "Ooooo!"

Anne's expressive little face lit up with delight, and she curtsied elaborately to Evie. "I shall take that as a yes, then!"

"Yes! Most definitely, indubitably, yes!" Evie said, nodding hard. "Right! We're buying you a mocha to sip while I walk you to the Causeway, yes? So you can take the taste of Fandom with you as long as possible."

"I would be honored by such a gift," Anne intoned solemnly. "And by the company as well."

Evie blinked tears out of her eyes, and said to the barista, "One extra-tall mocha with whipped cream and chocolate shavings and a cinnamon stick." She sniffed. "My friend is embarking on an adventure."

"Oh, it's not nearly as romantic as all that," protested Anne, who insisted on purchasing a rather fancy pastry for Evie in return. And so, once the purchased treats were well in hand, it was a fairly cheerful, if deliberately slow, walk down to the Causeway for the last time, with many effusive promises to write, no small amount of tears (at least on Anne's part, sensitive and theatrical soul that she was), and the heartiest well-wishes that ever two imaginative girls could ever bestow.

The Perk; Thursday Afternoon.

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