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Cafe Fina, Sunday

Warren was at work yet again. Taking advantage of any lulls in order to tackle his way through an apology letter for certain... happenings in class this week.

So far, he'd gotten as far as "Dear," about eleven times, and then he'd crossed them out. And then burned them. For good measure.

Because that really wasn't the word that he wanted to start any letter to his teacher with.

Today's Specials:
Chocolate Mousse
It goes well with frustration.

If he ended up burning one more letter, the dishes were going to just write the letter for him.

[Open!]

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Otherwise known as the "avoid the cloud of smoke" thread.

He's still cranky.

Because he's still Warren.

At some point during the day, I'm being taken off to a concert. I have no idea when, so expect the possibility of patchy availability to leap up at any given moment.

And Helen stopped by once again.

And Warren burned another letter.

As you do.

He'd gotten as far as "Professor Cullen, I think you're a-" this time.

"Interesting," Helen said drily. "Did it offend you?"

Warren raised an eyebrow and glanced up at Helen.

"The letter, or the guy I'm writing it to?"

This was a very important distinction that was going to have to be made.

"Ah," she said. "Things come clear. What did the guy do?"

Warren shrugged.

"His job, I suppose." He scowled down at his pad of paper, which was scattered and smudged with paper ash. "I'm supposed to write a letter of apology. Not easy to do when you're not sorry."

"I can imagine," Helen said. "Do you have to apologize for anything in particular or just a general apology?"

"Burning things I wasn't supposed to in an inappropriate setting," Warren mused, and then shrugged and shoved the pad of paper to the side. "Apparently, the school doesn't like it if you destroy their stuff."

"Hmm..." Helen said thoughtfully. "Perhaps that would be enough of an apology. 'I am sorry for burning things in an inappropriate setting. I regret destroying school property.'"

"I figure that's about the best I'm going to be able to do," Warren agreed, reaching for his pen again. "Mind if I paraphrase that?"

She shrugged. "Do anything you wish with it."

"Awesome." Warren took a moment to scrawl another note on the paper, eyed it critically for a moment, and then glanced up at Helen again. "So. What brings you here today?"

She just tilted her head and looked at him.

Warren... tilted his head. And looked back.

"Right. Cafe. Food. The dishes recommend the mousse, but that's not really a meal thing."

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Food I can get anywhere."

"Yeah, but where else does it come served by the napkins?"

She sighed. "Fine. We'll just ignore the fact that there's only one reason I'd be showing up here on Sundays, which has nothing to do with the food or the dishes or the napkins or anything about the place. Tell me what you'd recommend."

Warren shrugged. Okay. Fine. Maybe she was here to see him on Sundays. He couldn't imagine why. It wasn't as though he was a winning conversationalist or anything.

He'd also been pretty moody lately.

"The roast beef's usually pretty good. With peas and carrots. That kind of thing."

"No peas and carrots, please," Helen said. "But is there gravy?"

Of course she was there to see him, though at the moment he was wondering if he was trying to let her know he found her annoying. He certainly wouldn't be the first.

"The cooks are pretty flexible. I'm pretty sure they can manage some gravy, yeah."

Warren found everybody annoying. In pretty much equal doses. That was part of the magical wonder that made Warren who he was. Also, fire.

"Or... I can just go if you'd rather," she offered, feeling oddly unsettled.

And now it was Warren's turn to stare at her and tilt his head.

"And why do you think I would rather you go?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I come here and bother you and well, I know I can be... someone that people don't want around."

Alice was enticed by the chocolate mousse, and peered in ... only to see Warren lighting letters on fire. She jumped.

"Is this a bad time?"

"Nothing personal," Warren stated with a shrug, "but I hate everyone equally. Wouldn't want anyone complaining that I pick favorites."

He tucked the notepad and pen away in his pockets and frowned, standing up.

"Beef and gravy, then?"

"Oh," she said, feeling a bit disappointed. "Um... sure. I guess."

Warren blinked up at the voice, and then, realizing who it was, promptly beat out the fire with his hands.

"Sorry. It's not a bad time, I was just, uh..." He looked at the ashes and frowned. "Writing letters. Can I get you anything?"

"I was going to have the chocolate mousse of frustration," she said, nodding to its spot on the specials board. "I didn't realize it came a flambe. I wouldn't have thought mousse was edible that way."

Warren gave a little nod, feeling somewhat unsettled over the whole exchange himself, and then went to give her order to the kitchen staff.

"It probably isn't." Warren shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling for all the world like a heel for not paying better attention to who was walking into the cafe. "Nothing else is going to burn while you're in here. Promise. Maybe I get get you a glass of icewater or something with your mousse."

He offered her the faintest of wry smiles.

"You can throw it at me at the first sign of smoke."

She sat quietly, staring at her hands, and wondering what to do next.

Alice waved a hand, somewhat embarrassed. "I need to stop having little moment of terror whenever someone lights a candle," she joked. "So if the mousse isn't flambe, why were you setting things on fire? And I understand if you were simply doing so for your own amusement. I don't judge on such matters."

"Apology letter," Warren answered, frowning. "They don't work well when you're not sorry for what you did. I suck at writing letters even when I do mean them."

Alice's eyes were somewhat amused. "Have you tried the insincere, unpleasant sort of apology?" she asked. "'I only said that as a joke. I am terribly sorry for any who cannot see that.'"

Warren chewed the inside of his lip for a moment, thinking on that.

"Think it would work in a letter about disrupting class by destroying school property?"

Alice was going to traipse over to one of the tables and seat herself with a flounce.

"'Dear teacher,'" she announced. "'I am very sorry if I disrupted class last week. It was certainly not my intention.' What did you destroy?"

"It was one of those mechanical babies. He passed them off on everyone in the class. My partner and I didn't want one." Warren very nearly grinned at that. "Can I leave the 'Dear' part off of the start of it?"

"You could call him esteemed," she suggested. "Especially if he isn't. Can you say that you destroyed school property because it was attacking you, and therefore you were defending your classmates?"

"Esteemed Professor," Warren mused, and then he scrawled it at the beginning of his letter and nodded, satisfied. "Low esteem, sure. But it's some form of esteem anyhow, right? I have my doubts that he'd buy that the baby was attacking anyone. But it was sparking before it was... uh. Finished off."

Granted, the sparking had been his partner's doing.

"I don't know that he has to believe it," Alice mused. "You just have to say it convincingly and you can claim you've apologized."

"So sorry, won't happen again until the next time?" Warren smirked and wandered over to stand across from where she had taken her seat. "I think I can handle something like that."

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Cafe Fina, Sunday

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