Just coffee

[Emily Littleton] It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, everywhere around town. Even though Thanksgiving was still a few a days away. Carols were playing on the overhead speakers, but the thrum of holiday shoppers drowned out the tinny cheer. Emily sat, ensconced in a corner table by the window, idly staring over the screen of her laptop and out the window. She wasn't looking at anything in particular, but just the abstract patterns the rain made on the glass.

[Wharil Choc] Wharil was still on the fence about Christmas, but he was pretty sure where he stood about thanksgiving. It was horrible. But, those were secret thoughts for a secret cynic. One could never tell he felt that way of course. take for instance the playful way that he hopped from awning to awning, overhang to overhang, in a futile attempt to avoid the rain. It takes him on an odd, all around path that seems to run out of hops at a certain cafe along the Mile.

A sudden long, black wool coat appears in front of Emily on the other side of the window. The guy in the coat is slim. Young. Too young to dress like that. His wet hair clings to the sides and back of his head as he leans out to peer further along the sidewak, and peer back the way he came. And then he turns around completely, looking inside the cafe through window. He peers over the heads of most people, scanning the room to see who was in there.

And eventually his glimmering dark eyes fall on Emily frightened, momentarily, to find her there. And as a result, he smiles. And that smile seems to glimmer as well.

[Emily Littleton] Emily started. She flinched a little, in surprise, and her eyes slowly focused on the plane of glass between them, then refocused on the man outside the window. It happened quickly, all in so many blinks of an eye, and then she was smiling back at him with warmly laughing eyes and a little shake of her head.

You see, it wasn't so much that she hadn't been looking at anything at all. The city had a rhythm. Every section of the city had its own beat, pushing on through the holidays, the summer, the inbetween days all the same. And the city's beat was decidedly different that Wharil's which made him stand out against a background thought like raindrops sliding down the glass.

In her surprise, Emily's right hand fluttered to her neckline, pulling an old silver chain out from under the neckline of her sweater. Tugging a little more on the chain produced a small silver locket, which she wrapped in long, agile fingers and obscured from Wharil's view. Just verifying this thing existed seemed to calm her, center her, and make that smile something more playful and less... surprised.

The young woman tipped her head a bit to the side, eyeing Wharil's dripping locks and black wool coat, then finding his dark eyes for just a moment. (Glad somebody's having fun.)

[Wharil Choc] For a moment his eyes settle on her own and...they seem to get lost there. The eyes don't change. If anything they widen, taking in more of the stranger on the other side of the glass. His brows, on the other hand, come closer and closer together by degrees. When she reaches for the chain and amulet around her neck, his palm seems to touch at the glass. It takes him a moment to even notice this and when he does he looks at his own hand as if it had betrayed him, or snuck its way there without him even knowing.

A moment later he was coming in through the door. He flashed one of those smiles at baristas that eyed him as he entered and went, not to the counter to order, but through the arrangement of ables and chairs and straight to that corner seat.

"Hi." He says, standing and dripping in front of Emily.

[Emily Littleton] (This guy's a trip!) She watched him with something between amusement and interest. Jingle Bell Rock played in the distant background, overrun by the clinking of coffee cups on saucers and forks on plates. When Wharil stepped away from the window, she rolled her shoulders and looked down at the laptop screen... which had gone dark due to her inattention.

The door swung open, and the smell of rain rushed advanced across the threshhold on a swell of cooler air, heralded by the sound of cars on the wet pavement outside.

The door swung closed again, and the holiday cheer was once again contained by the cafe. Here are there were brightly colored bags, guarded by early bird shoppers, kept close beneath tables or in nearby chairs.

Her table was unadorned with such festivities. A messenger bag sat limply in the chair beside her, convalescing after having purged its contents in a swath of notebooks and electronics across the table. A lone coffee cup was nestled near her laptop's exhaust port (keeping warm? keeping close?). Something that looked frighteningly like calculus was garlanded across the open notebook page, adorned with neat little lemmas in the margins and the odd phrase or two in English (like signposts) here or there.

Her hand dropped away from the necklace, finally, as she noticed him drawing nearer to her table. Emily reflexively reached out to pull her gadgets away from his dripping as she looked up at him, a bit perplexed. (Do I... know you... from somewhere?) The smile returned, dimmed slightly, then steadied.

"Hello." He was dripping. Her word lilted oddly. He couldn't, at first, place the accent. And if he tried, it only got a bit more muddled. A little West Coast, a little British Isles, vaguely... unclear.

"I..." she started, faultered, and began again. "I'm terrible with faces. Do we... have class together?" More words, settling into a less jumbled accent, but still indistinct on the origin.

[Wharil Choc] "I--" he starts, then his brows twitch together and he smiles. "Yeah. I uhh...I think we do."

He looks down at the puddle forming under him, then begins to shrug off his coat.

"Oh man. This thing is gonna be hell to get dry. Do you mind if I sit?"

[Emily Littleton] She nods, and pushes a nearby chair out a bit with her foot. "Sure. Make yourself comfortable." She's friendly enough about it, especially after a cursory glance around the cafe turns up no empty tables. He seems friendly enough, so she's got no reason not to... be... friendly.

"I guess it's raining harder than it looks," she says, glancing sidelong at the window then back to his dripping coat, as she starts tucking some of the auxillary clutter back into her bag. It happens quickly, but she's sorting things into particular pockets. Not randomly, but quickly enough that it seems a bit haphazard.

There's a little pause, while he's getting settled and she's tidying up, closing the laptop, where no one says anything at all and it starts to get... tight. Just a little edgy. Like maybe she's nervous. Maybe Wharil makes her a bit... or she's not used to nice young men inviting themselves to join her for... coffee. "Emily," she says, to fill the space. Extends her hand. "Littleton."

[Wharil Choc] The pleasant young man sits down after draping his coat over another chair. He gives here a pleasant smile and, while he doesn't shake hands, he does give a little wave.

"Will" he says. His name apparently. "You're not a native are you? From Chicago, I mean."

[Emily Littleton] For a moment she looks down at her extended hand, and all the various forms of greeting friends and strangers in her adoptive homelands flash through her mind. It's not something Will sees as much as feels. The momentary fear of having forgotten herself in the presence of... of new people who don't know. Or do know, given his next questions.

Her hand goes back to the locket, wraps her fingers around it. She inhales, exhales, and slips it back under her sweater's neckline. Calmer.

"Goodness, no," she says, and that differentness has slipped in around her words again. "Not that there's anything wrong with Chicago," she adds.

[Wharil Choc] He smiles at that response, though perhaps not as brightly as he had before.

"Yeah, me either. Its pretty great here though. And the hot dogs? To die for! I was lucky enough to be around here during the summer, when a guy could be out in the open without getting soaked. How long you been around?"

[Emily Littleton] The hot dogs were pretty good. And Whirlyball was damned fun. "Two and a half years, give or take," she said, but with an undertone that said plainly that she could give him the datestamp down to the minute if he really pressured her. Two and a half good years, by the sound of it. Or at least better than some years in her past. "Didn't really get off campus much until lately, though."

A pause. An oddly poignant smile. "Guess I didn't really see the city until recently." Not for what it was. Her hand starts to move toward the locket again, but she stays it. Reaches out for her (empty) coffee cup instead. When Emily looks back to him, there's still warmth and friendliness in her features but their tinged with something else now too.

For a moment.

And then she shrugs it off (or tries to...). "Got any plans for Thanksgiving?" she asked. "Most of our classmates have gone home already..." It's a leading question, somehow, and Wharil knows it.

[Wharil Choc] That oh so pleasant smile falters slightly, and comes back tinged with embarrassment.

"No, not really. Not too much family for the family holidays. Uhm...I'm sorry, but I couldn't help noticing...is that a locket you have there?"

[Emily Littleton] His answer was familiar. She nodded a little, and let it go.

When he mentioned her locket, her hand felt for the chain and brought it out from under her neckline again. "Yes. It was my grandmother's," she said, moving her hand away so he could see it a bit clearer.

It's old, oval shaped and silver. Faintly engraved, though most of the design has worn off over time. What engraving remains is brought out by the dark patina silver develops. It's plain to the eye, but seems to give her a sense of comfort.

[Adam Compton] Business and Entertainment. This was indeed Adam's kind of neighborhood, and with the stores open late for Christmas shopping, it was busy even this late in the evening. A slave to his cravings, Adam finds himself standing in line at Starbucks, the bitter aroma of coffee hanging in the air as he stares at the menu board. In his head he's silently eenie meenie miney mo'ing over the list of coffees, and when he finally get to the counter he orders. "Grande Vanilla Bean Mocha please. Extra whip." He smiles at the female Barista, one dark blond brow cocked as she asks if he wants chocolate sprinkles, or a flavor shot. "Sprinkles. Yes. And unless it's a Vodka flavored shot... I'll pass."

His winning smile has the girl blushing in no time, and when he pays he tells her to keep the change, which has her blushing and grinning. This is after all a neighborhood of ands.

[Emily Littleton] In this neighborhood of ands, it's easy enough to miss the co-eds in the corner... one dripping, and the other looking like she'd been there for quite awhile. His (sopping) coat is thrown over one chair. Hers is warm and dry, hanging on her chair back. There's a notebook on the table, a messenger bag in a chair, an empty coffee cup, a blue ink pen.

They're talking about something, but not too close. Perhaps classmates. Or a blind date. No shopping bags around the table. A cell phone. A laptop tucked into the messenger bag.

In this neighborhood of ands, it'd be easy enough to miss Adam--handsome and flirting with the barista--on a casual sweep of the room. But she doesn't, and she's looked away from Will (Wharil) just long enough to be curious but not rude when she turns her attention back to the damp young man at her table.

[Adam Compton] On a typical night, he doesn't linger in Starbucks. The smell of the place makes him want to drown himself in espresso. Tonight however, he gets his steaming Vanilla Bean concoction and instead of heading for the door, heads for an empty armchair. Maybe it's the music playing (jazzy Christmas music no doubt) or the fact that for a chilly, wet evening the place isn't packed for a change. Whatever the case, he eases into the once plush, now weathered and flattened armchair, setting his coffee to one side and picking up the newspaper that lays on the table beside him. The pages flutter together in a flurry of sound that is lost in the upbeat tune of jingle bells as sung by a woman who wants to be Billy Holiday so badly she can taste it. In his perusal of the paper, he glances up from time to time. His gray blue gaze flitting over the other patrons.

He doesn't seem to linger on any one person, for any particular amount of time. The paper distracts his gaze almost as often as it is distracted by the other patrons in the small cafe.

[Wharil Choc] "That's..." His eyes dance over the plain locket, and there's almost a look of reverence on his face. "That's really something. And a hand me down? That makes it extra special."

Those dark glimmering eyes don't wander away from her. They come to meet her own eyes, in fact.

"Nice little bit of Magic you've got there."

[Emily Littleton] She'd gotten a couple comments on it before, but they were usually in the vein of how sentimental not reverence. Her expression shifts, a little taken aback, a little protective, then just a smile.

"Th... thanks." Will makes her nervous, and Emily shifts in her chair, tucking one foot up behind the opposite knee, leaning back a little, running her fingers through her hair, then back to the locket (exhale). "But it's not magic... it's just..." She shakes her head a little. "A little piece of home."

If he was alluding to something, she didn't catch on. Odd, because all that calculus in the notebook seemed to say she was rather bright. In looking away from him, her gaze settles on Adam again. And his newspaper. He's the sort of person who ought to look familiar to her, but she settles for familiar enough and can't place him either. Oh-for-two tonight.

[Jarod Nightingale] If there was any particular location where Jarod might be found in the city... Mag Mile was definitely high up on the list of likely possibilities. Tonight, of course, was no exception. He didn't even need to drive. The shopping district was right around the corner from his apartment, so he'd been walking down the sidewalk amidst the milling crowds until his eyes lit upon the sign for the coffee shop. There he paused, contemplating, before reaching out to take the handle and open the glass-paned door. (People like him didn't technically need caffeine, of course. But that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy a hot drink on a cold, wet evening.)

After stepping inside, the tall, exotic-looking man reached up to run a hand absently through his black hair, giving the shop a brief once over before he stepping into line at the counter. Jarod Nightingale looked like he belonged here. He had on a fashionable knee-length black coat over a Prada business-suit (also black), and everything about him, from his expensive haircut to his handsome features to the coldly confident way he held himself seemed to scream money. Status. Perfection. A very well crafted creation if ever there was one.

There was something that gave him pause as he looked up at the menu and contemplated his selection. Something familiar tickling his senses. Giving a lazy blink (almost feline), he glanced first at Adam, then at the table where Wharil and Emily sat. Finally, he laughed gently, as if at some private joke. Then it's his turn to order, and he asks - not for coffee - but for a cup of Earl Grey. He waited but a moment for the barista at the end of the bar to hand him his drink, then he walked over and pulled up a chair next to where Adam had seated himself. Jarod unbuttoned his coat and hung it carefully on the back of said chair before lowering himself into it and leaning back.

"Any interesting stories today?"

His features were a mix of Asian and Caucasian. Something in between. But his accent was entirely American.

[Wharil Choc] 'Will' Huffed at that, smiling as if Emily had told them both a joke that neither really understood. "Are you...sure...about that?" He asked curiously.

[Adam Compton] "There are interesting stories every day." He speaks with a low humored chuckle in his even tone as he looks at the stranger, folding the paper in half and offering it up. "I miss Calvin and Hobbes though."

The section of paper he has folded is indeed the comic section, which if turned away, he shrugs and sets back on the table at his side. A long fingered (manicured and smooth) hand reaching for his steaming cup of sickly sweet vanilla cream liquid. He slurps a sip from the tiny hole in the white plastic lid audibly, then glances apologetic at the nearby table. His gray blue gaze catching, and lingering briefly on Emily's. "These new comics... " He taps the paper, which is either now in Jarod's hand, on folded on the table next to him. "...they don't have the wit, and the heart that that scribbled kid and his pet stuffed tiger had. Y'know?"

Adam has an easy way about him. It pulls people in, sets them at ease and makes them feel at home. Just like that shiny locket the girl at the next table is wearing. Adam is charismatic, charming, debonair even. The sort of man that people would describe as having "it".

[Emily Littleton] Emily's eyes widened as Jarod joined Adam, no longer comfortable idly looking over there either. He was... she felt herself mentally tripping over words and blinked, then looked away. Staring would be rude, and that was exactly what would happen if she let herself look over again. (Maybe just once more.)

Instead she pulled her notebook to her and fidgeted with the pen. In a few minutes she began doodling idly in the margin of her nearly perfect page of equations and symbols. Chattin' with Will. Leavin' the pretty people alone. Not that Will wasn't pretty.

"You mean sure, like beyond all probable doubt sure? Or sure, like beyond the realm of possibility sure? Or maybe sure, like violates a physical constant of the universe sure?" She shrugs a little. "Most of what I study in school would have been magic a century ago. Where technology's headed now... science... the way we interact, conceptualize ourselves, all of that is pretty magical." She says it off the cuff, like she's been thinking about it a lot lately. "Guess it means what sort of magic you mean. I'm not sure there's any magic out there that can make a bunch of motel rooms and rented houses feel like home, 'sides a lot of wishful thinking."

She's smiling, but she's shrugging again too. Fingering that pretty bit of silver with her fingertips. Looking to Will for a bit more explanation. It's the holidays, and she's obviously alone. Not going home (most of our classmates have left...). Rough time of year for some.

[Wharil Choc] His face bursts into that smile again and he laughs, quiet and polite. "I uhmm...I think that's enough of an answer, actually."

He looks over now at the two young men who've sat down. The two talking about stories. For a moment his eyes settle on Adam, still smiling, and then move to Jarod.

This one he recognizes. Barely, but with certainty. And in fact...its suddenly seems important.

"Ah." he says, as if just realizing something. "I know you, right?"

[Jarod Nightingale] If Emily had wanted to stare, it would be likely that this would not seem out of the ordinary to the man in the prada suit. People stared at him... frequently. (In fact, he got paid to let people stare at him.) Of course, he wasn't working right now. He was waiting for his tea to finish steeping and apparently making idle conversation with a stranger who was likewise both charming and attractive. (That may very well have been a recipe for trouble. These sorts of men usually competed with one another for the spotlight. Then again... )

Adam waxed philosophical about Calvin and Hobbes, and Jarod smiled just a little. That knowing sort of half-smile that curled one corner of his mouth up just a little higher than the other. It was hard to tell if he agreed or not, but he didn't seem displeased by the answer. He didn't take the paper, but he did glance at it briefly before setting his cup down. (That was the thing about tea. One had to be patient for it. It said something about him, perhaps.)

"I think I can see that. Can't say I generally read the comics any more, but I liked that one when I was a kid." He paused, as if mulling something over. Starkly indigo eyes trailed along the man in front of him, as if he were... analyzing him, somehow. Filing away little details. "I see I've walked in on Awakened night at the coffee shop. I'm Jarod, by the way." And here he offered his hand in a more formal greeting.

[Jarod Nightingale] ...And then there was a vaguely familiar voice addressing him, so he glanced in Wharil's direction and nodded, offering the dreamspeaker another of those knowing smiles. "Knowing isn't quite the right word, but we've met. Glad to see you survived the zombie apocalypse." He could be a bit glib, on occasion. When he had the mind to be. And of course, no one in their right mind would suspect he was actually being serious.

[Emily Littleton] Will laughs, so Emily chuckles. Laughter brightens her features, even as her mouth twists a bit into a wry smirk. Then she finds herself looking over to the neighboring table--exactly where she had told herself not to look, in case she ended up staring again--when Will's on the cusp of making introductions.

Emily is not as classily attired as the others. She's wearing jeans, and had previously been wearing some well worn sneakers (but those were tucked under chair now, exposing some cheerfully colored socks). She's wearing layers of last year's styles, possibly picked up second hand but nicely matched. Her hair was loose, and pushed back over her shoulders and away from her face.

There's something about the way Will says magic and Jarod says Awakened that gives her pause, and that she doesn't readily assimilate these words will probably go unnoticed to most. She's normally quite good at slipping her confusion behind a friendly smile, and figuring things out as conversations unfold.

Her gaze has settled on someone again. This time Adam.

[Wharil Choc] "Shh." he hisses quickly at the mention of zombies, and his head nods toward Emily. "Some of us are uh...still stretching. If you know what I mean."

[Adam Compton] "If you liked it when you were a kid. You'd still like it now. Like... cotton candy. Big League chew. Dr. Pepper slushies. You can't not like them if you liked them once upon a time." Flawed logic perhaps, but he seems to be able to make even flawed logic sound like the Gods honest truth. It is what he does afterall.

Jarod goes on to mention awakened night, and like a good little soldier, Adam's brow furrows, one slim dark blond brow arching in question. Awakened night? Pardon? Despite the subtle tilt of his mouth that is a barely hidden smile as he takes a sip of his sickly sweet brew. Pale gray blue eyes peering over the lid of his cardboard cup at the new girl. It's like an itch he has to scratch... women in the room. His smile broadens, becomes a voice of welcome without saying a word as he sets his coffee aside once more and leans toward Emily. "Hi. Adam, it's nice to meet you."

His smile flexes with barely contained mirth and charm, his gray blue eyes dancing with an inner light.

[Emily Littleton] Adam is immediately familiar as he dons the winning smile, and accessible eyes. Emily can feel a familiar tug at the corners of her mouth, finding herself grinning back at him. What's worse, is that Adam is better at this game than she is. But the familiarity of it, the helloes, and nice to meet yous, with smiling nice young men (who are not also a little unnerving and somewhat sopping).

"Emily," she says, and for a moment she's relaxed enough to let the muddled accent come forward again. Borne not of one place, but of having spent too long (not long enough) in too many places over too many years. The strongest note is slightly British. "Pleased to meet you, too."

"They must have had one hell of a Halloween party," she adds wrily, as an aside, at the mention of Zombies and Apacolypses.

[Jarod Nightingale] The look he gave Wharil when the other man attempted to shush him was... one of those expressions that seemed to say much without having need for his mouth to actually open. It was simultaneously disapproving and vaguely amused. As if the other man had ruined his fun.

Adam insisted upon the appeal of childhood adorations, and Jarod, for his part, is rather enigmatic in his response, taking it in without either agreement or disagreement. Instead, he simply rolled his shoulders in a light shrug of contemplation and replied with, "Perhaps." Of course, two could play at that game. Adam didn't confirm or deny his suspicions, but then... that didn't really matter. Quintessence was all around them, and tonight Jarod could feel it like the hum of a tuning fork.

Adam was momentarily distracted by allure of the sole female among the group, and Jarod glanced between he and Emily for a moment, thoughtfully. "Evening," he added to Emily with a small nod, after Adam had gotten his introduction in. Jarod's own greeting wasn't so warm or openly charming, but nonetheless he gave the girl a steady gaze. Curious, perhaps. He was a curious sort of creature.

"Sadly, it was a bit of a drag. Still, a shame you couldn't be there. Would have made things a little more appealing."

And then he smiled... and he didn't look cold or distant anymore. He looked... rather inviting, in fact.

[Adam Compton] Her wit is rewarded with a winning smile, a mild chuckle that is stifled a moment later by his beverage. Hot. Sweet. His tongue laps a spot of whipped cream for the stubble of his meticulously trimmed goatee as he turns his attention back toward the two men. Wharil and Jarod. Blue gray eyes roll toward Jarod as he flatters the lone girl in the mix, and he lifts a hand to rub at his svelt beard, the gesture obscuring a faint smile. Leaning back in his chair, he sips his drink again, glancing toward Wharil. "Adam."

He leans out from the confines of his armchair again, offering a hand. Smooth and pampered, toward the young man. His smile is professional and entertaining. A combination that suits not only the district, the neighborhood, the occasion, but also the man himself. "Nice to meet you."

[Wharil Choc] "Hey have you seen Dylan since that night?" he picks up almost immediately. Almost as if he hadn't just shushed him. Almost as if he had already offered his name and hadn't just shifted the conversation to his own designs.

Again.

[Emily Littleton] Adam was smiling and charming. Jarod was smiling and... gorgeous. Wharil had been gregarious to come in from the rainstorm to say hi. And smiling.

It was almost enough to make her believe the world had been wonderously turned on its head. Em' glanced down and found her notebook still full of equations, impenetrable maths, and squiggly-lined doodles. She was still, undeniably, a geek -- at least intellectually. And yet three very interesting, engaging young men were all, at intervals, smiling at her tonight. Her roommate was never going to believe her, and it wasn't like she could ask the three of them if she could take a picture with them to prove it. If they were her college classmates, that would have flown, but Jarod and definitely Adam knew that game better than co-eds.

Emily laughed a little. It was a prettier laugh. An almost playful laugh. "Aiya..." she breathed the Chinese word effortlessly, amused. "You guys are..." she caught herself, and just kept grinning. "Nice to meet you, too, Jarod."

There was a little pause, and then she said to no one in particular: "Nights like this are good for the soul you know."

[Jarod Nightingale] "I haven't seen any of you since that night. Until now, of course." Unfortunately, Chicago's sole Verbena Disciple wasn't exactly known to mix regularly with the local mages. There was something to be said for avoiding trouble, but then... there was also something to be said for entertainment. Which was why he'd sat down amidst them tonight. Say what you like about the awakened, but they were seldom boring.

Emily's choice of wording caught his attention, and his eyebrows went up almost imperceptibly. One didn't typically hear women of non-asian descent speak Cantonese as if it were natural to them. Then again, Emily had one of those accents that seemed to come from everywhere all at once. Perhaps she was an army brat. Jarod himself had an oddly generic accent. It didn't seem to possess much in the way of distinctive or peculiar inflection. He could have come from just about anywhere. (But wherever it was... he didn't talk like a native Chicagoan.)

"Anyone ever tell you that you have an absolutely fascinating accent?" He finally commented with a hint of that smile remaining on his features. He leaned over and grabbed his tea, lifting off the lid to pull out the bag (it was one of those pyramids that contained actual tea leaves, although the quality still left a little something to be desired) and deposit it on his plate before popping the lid back on and taking a sip. His nose wrinkled ever so slightly. Palatable, but not his favorite.

[Emily Littleton] Emily quirked an eyebrow enigmatically and smirked. "Yes," she said clearly and about as generically as she could. Which still sounded vaguely foreign. "Maybe once or twice," she said, but could keep the last word from listing back toward her hodge-podge pronunciation.

"Has anyone ever told you the same?" she asked, and she wasn't entirely being coy. It was a little unsettling to hear perfect American English from someone with Jarod's compexion. She had expected him to make her a little... homesick. It wasn't the right word but it would do.

"I hope your friend," this Dylan person, "is alright."

[Adam Compton] Introductions are made, and Adam reclaims his hand, glancing at the Verbena whom he hasn't introduced himself to yet. Not that it matters, he's been present for the other two intros, and three times in this case isn't the charm. It's redundant. So he returns his attention to his caffinated concoction, taking a quick sip as he looks from one face to the other. While he is a practiced hand at being in the lime light, center stage, life of the party. He's just as content to watch, and listen to other people interact. It's what makes him a good lawyer (liar).

Emily hopes that Wharil's unseen friend is alright. Adam smiles at her, a smile that says isn't that a nice thing to say, even as he's wondering if she means it, or if it just seems like the right thing to say? Jarod compliments her accent. Fascinating. He calls it, and Adam smiles a smile that says that's right. Fascinating. My new word of the day. Wharil.... where the heck has Wharil gone? He glances over at the dark skinned young man, a brow cocking faintly. The pretty boy, and the smooth talking lawyer have taken a little of the wind out of the co-eds sails. And Adam finds himself honestly hoping that the pair weren't on blind date, or a date of any kind. He'd feel back. He's a lot of things, but a cock block? Well that just cuts to the quick.

[Enid Geraint] It's late, really, for anyone under the age of eighteen to be out and about, but there Enid is - and she looks under the age of eighteen. Looks can, in fact, be deceiving, but in this case aren't; still, the girl tucked into stylishly faded and frayed jeans and an overly large hoodie (hood up, tonight - to protect from the rain, perhaps, as it comes down when she enters, revealing a thick mass of straight, red hair) proclaiming the name of a local private high school and its track and cross country team across the back, steps up to the counter and orders her drink, pays with a credit card, and steps around to the barista end of the counter to await her drink (which is in the process of making the coffee-laden place smell of apples and spicy tea as it's heated) while looking over the assembled.

She doesn't meet anyone's eyes, or talk to anyone - this is strange, perhaps, given that her bearing is that of one of those confident girls; the sort who's always in the popular crowd relatively effortlessly, and it doesn't matter that she's a jock, or a nerd, or a band geek, or whatever else she does. The attention is starting to wear off, and of this she is glad. Still, she's ever wary, given her experiences of the last month.

Eyes land on Wharil, briefly, and she does a double, then triple take; he shimmers around the edges like a mirage, a dream, and one that she's had before. She can't call up a name for the life of her, nor anything else about him, just that she knows him . . . or rather, that she should. Soon, the barista is getting her attention and handing her a drink; she turns back to him, smiles, says thanks, and then wanders to read a bulletin board not far from the little knot of people - not exactly a group, but close enough.

[Jarod Nightingale] He could, if he wanted to... sound like he was from a lot of places. But normally he sounded like he was from nowhere. The anonymity of it suited him. Jarod laughed gently as Emily returned his compliment, taking another sip of his mediocre Earl Grey before glancing briefly back at Adam.

Emily hoped that Wharil's friend was alright. Dylan wasn't Jarod's friend, so he couldn't really contribute to that sentiment. Point in fact, Jarod didn't have any male friends. He either slept with them, or he competed with them for one thing or another. (Usually women.) Generally, said men decided for themselves what category they'd be placed in. Even in the modern world, everyone was really just animals at heart. Predators and prey. They wore their true selves behind their words. Body language said a lot more than most gave credit to.

And what of his own body language? Fluid. Graceful without being feminine (there was a difference.) Controlled.

(Predatory.)

"I suppose they have, though it depends on what accent I'm using at the time. I've lived in a lot of places. As, I imagine, have you." This was in response to Emily, and then he was back to Adam again. "And where are you from? Can't say you quite sound mid-western."

[Wharil Choc] Wharil was there, but lost in thought. His hair, wet and stuck to the sides of his face, gets frazzled by a hand as he snaps out of it, letting out a bit of a spray of water as he does so. He considers Jarod for a moment, and his eyes then settle on Adam. One gets the distinct feeling he was committing their faces to memory, and then he stands.

There's that smile on his face again. A gregarious thing that glimmered with good nature.

"I think you're in pretty good hands here, Emily. These guys party hard sometimes but they're mostly harmless."

And there's a bit of playfulness in him now as he turns his gaze to Jarod once again.

"Like a kitty cat."

He reaches for the long wool coat he'd folded over the back of a chair at their table, and tosses the thing over his shoulders.

"I'll see you in class." He says to her, and nods to each...

"Jarod. Adam."

..before leaving.

[Emily Littleton] Emily looks up as Wharil gets ready to leave, and the night that started with an innocent attempt at her physics problems turned a little stranger. "Thanks, Will. I'll see you around, ne?" she asked, smiling warmly. "Stay dry..." she quipped, lightly teasing him.

But as soon as he was half out the door, she found herself wishing she'd written down his name. Glancing down at her notebook, she discovered she'd lacked any sort of foresight on that one.

"Should I..." she looked at the other two men, feeling the conversation shift back towards a tete-a-tete again. Go, she meant. Emily motioned a little bit over her shoulder, vaguely asking if she was intruding. "I mean... " she lets it trail off and looks around the coffee shop, which is thinning out for the evening.

[Adam Compton] "Mid-west." He nods at Jarod with a slowly broadening smile. "Born and raised."

Not in Chicago, but Jarod didn't ask for details, and Adam isn't offering. Wharil makes his farewells, and Adam nods one in turn. He doesn't bother with nice to meet you's... he'd exchanged those upon meeting these people. Again with the redundant. Blue gray eyes catch sight of the young girl as she comes in out of the rain. A passing glance, nothing more. Adam isn't one to judge who should be where, at what time of night.

"No." He grins at Emily. Yes, grins. An expression normally saved for 8 year olds and shit eaters. "You're not interrupting anything." Mind reader, no. People reader, yes indeed. And before it becomes creepy, his grin melts into a smile, which melts into an expression of calm repose. Besides, his cheeks are starting to feel the ache of all these random smiles, and he needs his jaw limber. For later. If his mind could grin, oh how it would be.

[Jarod Nightingale] Wharil called him a kitty cat, and Jarod fixed the man with a look that was amused on the outside, but held rather longer than it needed to. It wasn't the kind of stare a house-cat might give. One might imagine something a bit larger, and more dangerous. But Jarod couldn't turn into a cat. Yet. Wharil had seen him with his claws out once already, though. Both figuratively and literally.

Enid entered, and he glanced her way briefly. Wharil left, and Jarod focused on his tea again as he waited for Adam to respond to his question. When he responded, Jarod seemed to find this a bit curious, but he didn't probe further. People didn't always like to answer personal questions, and he wasn't one to be obnoxious about it. Instead, he repeated Adam's sentiment to Emily, giving a light shake of his head. "Only if you want to. I certainly don't mind the company. Though I imagine if you linger too much longer, you'll end up getting a fair bit of attention."

This was stated with a surprising amount of matter-of-factness. Not playful or flirty, but rather, observational. He knew himself. And he knew what men like Adam were like. "Unless the pretty blond wants to take some of it. But so far he hasn't shot me any prolonged stares so I'm pegging him as either straight or open-minded only when drunk."

[Emily Littleton] "Even so..." she said, looking between them and being wholly unable to resist adopting Adam's brilliant grin for herself. "I've got class in the morning and I should at least pretend I'm going to show up."

She's closing the notebook, tucking it into her messenger bag, as she speaks. If Adam's quite as perceptive as he seems, then he can tell she isn't lying... much. She'll definitely be in class, but something else is inspiring her to walk away before she gets herself in trouble. Perhaps an overdeveloped sense of self-preservation, or the innate understanding that she didn't entirely belong at a table with two beautiful, charismatic men. Or not these men. Or something.

The phrase was out of her league.

Her locket slipped beneath her sweater again as she moved. "It has been lovely meeting you both." She was tucking her feet back into her shoes, getting ready to go. Wrapping that substantial something up inside her as well.

Some part of her wanted to give one, or both of them, her number, but Emily wasn't quite that brazen.

[Adam Compton] Emily might not be.

Adam is. He rises as she gathers her things, and reaching into his jacket he pulls out his card. A business card is like an unspoken pick up line. It says: This is what I do. This is my number. If you're interested. Call.

"It's been a pleasure." He glances at Jarod as he reaches for his coffee. Nodding. "Both of you." Adjusting his tie, and his jacket, he smooths the front of his distinctly meterosexual garb, and heads for the door. Holding it open for Emily, and then parting ways in the rain.