The Perk, Thursday, July 18, 2024

[fears_no_one]

Flint would never tell anyone where he'd been the last two weeks, and he certainly wouldn't admit to having been a parrot because that was patentedly ridiculous, but suffice to say it had been a very trying fortnight and the coffee person (he absolutely refused to learn the term barista) was not making it better.

After a short, fierce argument about why Flint wouldn't be taking his fucking tea cold, the barista had gotten clever and assured Flint that he would love an iced chai latte in the summer!

Which led to this moment: Flint, seated at a table staring down his drink like it might poison him.

[OOC: Vacation over! Save me from the mountains of laundry I'm doing.]

Comments

[napking]

Gray got done placing his heavily customized order for something that had a very high flavored syrup to coffee ratio (and extra whipped cream on top) and turned around to discover that the hot pirate was also in this coffee shop.

"Well, hello, sailor." Gray, no. "Something wrong with your drink?" Did it taste like coffee? Because that was always a travesty.

[fears_no_one]

"Everything's wrong with this drink," Flint said, glaring at it. "It's milky, it's full of ice, and I don't remember what it was called."

[napking]

"So you don't know what you ordered?" Gray asked, reaching out to swipe Flint's drink like some kind of hooligan.

[fears_no_one]

"That's mine," Flint growled, dragging the whatever-the-hell-it-was closer.

[napking]

"I was just gonna see what it was," Gray protested, like unto an innocent little lamb. "I was trying to help!"

[fears_no_one]

"Taking things that aren't yours are how people lose fingers," Flint replied.

[napking]

"Meh," Gray said with a shrug. "I grow those back." Or they reattached, or something. Canon was annoyingly vague on this point.

[fears_no_one]

Fucking what?

"I'm sorry, I thought I heard you say you can regrow your fingers."

[napking]

"Uh, yeah?" Gray said. "Because that's what I said. It's not really fun, though, so I would actually appreciate it if you didn't cut off my fingers. If that's what you're into then this isn't gonna work."

[fears_no_one]

"...what I'm into?" Flint repeated, blinking.

[napking]

"Right, I'm getting ahead of myself. I was helping you identify your drink first, and then I was going to hit on you." Although if Flint had been from a more convenient time than 1715 the 'hey, sailor,' would have been a big clue.

[fears_no_one]

It might've been meant that way back in 1715, too, but...generally not in Flint's direction.

Flint was tired of asking what things meant, so he decided he'd figure out "hit on" on his own. Hopefully it didn't include actual hitting since his own fingers wouldn't grow back.

"I would appreciate the help," he admitted. "It's getting the table wet."

Another strike against cold beverages!

[napking]

Gray picked up Flint's cup and, instead of looking for a label or anything like that, just casually took a sip of it. "Oh, that's chai," he said, and offered it back to Flint. "It's like a spiced tea. Comes from India."

Conned by a barista, Flint. Tsk.

[fears_no_one]

"Cold, milky tea," Flint said, glaring hard enough at the barista to make them yelp and go on break. "You may take the whole thing."

[napking]

"No, thanks," Gray said. "I already ordered my own drink." It would horrify Flint. "Have you even tried it yet?" He nudged it toward Flint. "You might like it. You have to try new stuff sometimes. If I didn't I never would have found out that waffles are God's perfect food."

Raiden sighed every time he said that.

[fears_no_one]

"Tea isn't supposed to be cold," Flint said with a little lip curl at the poor, unloved chai. "We'd had an entire discussion about this before you arrived."

Well. Rant. The barista hadn't been allowed to talk much.

[napking]

"It didn't used to be supposed to be cold--" Was that grammar? Did Gray care? "--but then they figured out refrigeration and how to make ice and the sky was the limit on what they'd make cold!" Gray had lived through this 'coming to terms with the existence of cold tea' thing once with Alastair, Flint. You didn't faze him. "Now, soup. Soup is not supposed to be cold."

Sorry, gazpacho. He didn't trust you.

[fears_no_one]

Flint pulled a face. "Who is making cold soup on purpose?"

[napking]

"I dunno," Gray said with a shrug. "Weird people. If you asked my brother he could probably tell you, but you got the wrong Nephilim for that." Oh. "I'm Gray, by the way. Hi."

[fears_no_one]

Flint nodded in greeting. "I'm Flint. I run the bookshop by the park."

[napking]

"Right. I heard that mentioned on the radio, I think. So you like...books?" So smooth.

Tea and books? Flint totally got the wrong Nephilim, but Alastair was already taken. (By an older, redheaded human, come to think of it, but...no, Gray wasn't going down that road right now.)

[fears_no_one]

"The books don't tell me tea should be cold," Flint said dryly.