Coffee junkies

[Adam Compton] Starbucks.

It is his guilty pleasure. Frothy sweet, bitter, java, mocha drinks by the bucket. The Barista's know him, they know too that he doesn't order the same drink twice. Some are amused by his random picks while others just wish he'd find something he liked so they could simply ask if he wanted 'the usual' on any given day.

Today his pleasure is a Peppermint Hot Chocolate. With extra whip. He sits at the window, his briefcase open in his lap, a file folder open within. Perusing the contents as he sips his drink. People come and go, in and out of the rain that seems to be perpetually flowing over Chicago this late autumn, early winter season. Comfortable holiday jazz spills out of the speakers, and people sit talking in hushed voices as the late afternoon shoppers and business people come and go on their way to somewhere else.

[Wharil Choc] Everyone loved coffee, whether in large double grande sized doses, or small little bite sized candy doses.

Everyone was crazy. At least as far as Wharil Choc was concerned. Chai was the superior beverage in all fields. That's what he orders before heading over to a seat. He's got his usual duds on. A crisp white business shirt and slacks, sans tie, and long, dark wool coat. He'd cut quite the handsome figure, what with his contrast of colors in clothes, skin, and hair. But the messenger bag he has strapped over one shoulder and hanging on the opposite hip does soemthing the skew the lines just out of proportion. He looks awkward now.

Like the awkward pause he takes when he's idly heading over to one of the window seats and finds it occupied.

"Oh...Sorry man. I didn't notice you there."

[Adam Compton] Adam looks up from the file in his lap, blue gray eyes questioning at the sound of Wharil's apology. It takes him a second to realize that it's him who's being spoken to. His reply is a slow smile, a shake of his head as he swallows a mouth full of hot minty chocolate. "No problem." He says in the aftermath of a swallow, papers shuffled in his lap. "Truth be told, I didn't notice you either."

Perhaps though, Wharil gets that alot. Considering the healthy dose of I'm not really here, and you won't remember me, he's got going on. "Have a seat. Plenty of room for a few more bodies in here." He glances over his shoulder at the slow crowd on a Wednesday afternoon, and nods as though satisfied as he looks back. "We're far from standing room only."

[Wharil Choc] "Yeah, but these are the choice seats. Gotta grab them up while the grabbin's good, y'know?"

He smiles as he sits, and swings the messenger bag off his shoulder in the process.

"I'm a freelance writer, see. Window seats are like my bread and butter. Comfortable enough for me to give equal importance to focusing on what I'm doing and still have some fodder for when I want my mind to just drift off with something."

The flap on the bag opens swiftly, and he produces a notebook (A Hardcover journal type deal) and a notepad (A yellow paper jot down whatever comes to your head type deal) and sets them both on the table.

"You're...Adam, right? I think I've seen you in here before."

[Adam Compton] Adam listens politely. He's a good listener. Part of his job is to listen to people tell their stories. The other part is to tear those stories apart until he gets the answer he's really looking for. He's even better at that part of his job. His expression is only mildly surprised at Wharil's recognition of him. Sometimes, he does get recognized. Though being recognized isn't always a good thing when you put people in prison for a living. "Yeah. Adam Compton."

His handsome features form an expression of confused amusement as he holds out a hand to shake. "We've met?"

[Wharil Choc] "Very briefly." Wharil says, smiling affably as he shakes the man's hand. "I doubt you'd remember. I'm Will."

And that, it seems, was all the name 'Will' was willing to offer. He opens his journal, flipping through pages of neat, less-than-elegant text until he arrives at a blank page. Then he flips through the notepad. The first few pages are just scribbles and quick notes. Somewhere in the middle the quick notes become paragraphs and the scribbling takes up the margins. By the time he arrives at the page of notes he was looking for its all frantic scribblings interspersed by crudely drawn symbols and sketches. Wharil fingers through them like they mean something to him, as implausible as that may seem.

"So what do you do, Adam?"

[Adam Compton] They shake briefly. A polite gesture... one that is dying in a world that has lost itself to darkness. Will, goes about flipping through a notebook, a journal, and Adam returns to busying himself with documents in the file folder he has open.

Adam, for his part doesn't pry into whats written on Will's papers, and he hopes that Will and other passers by offer him the same courtesy. Not that a stranger would find anything of interest in the sheets of paper he's shuffling through. It's all type, on plain white legal paper. Some lines are highlighted. Names. Dates. Important facts. To the layman it's just words on a sheet. He looks up again, a sheet of paper resting between his fingers.

"Law." His smile is broad, endearing. He's a man with a lot of charm. The sort that gets through to men and women alike. "I'm a lawyer."

[Emily Littleton] The Mile is far enough from campus to feel like she'd gotten away for a bit, yet close enough for Emily to get back before too many people notice she's been gone. It's December, and as such procrastination and caffeine consumption are at their high points for her year. One could graph these things and tell the season, if they knew her well enough.

The door opens, and Emily steps in side. The sounds from the Mile are a little louder, the temperature around the door is just a little colder, and then the door swings shut again. She looks as if she hadn't quite grasped the rhythmn of life in the Windy City just yet. Her hair is pulled back neatly, but wind-touseled. Emily pulls her cardigan a little tighter around her as she looks up at the menu board, then approaches the counter.

Everyone loves coffee. Wharil loves tea. Emily... loves things that aren't on the menu. "Can you make me a Vietnamese coffee?" she asks, which draws a perplexed look from the barista. (Order off the menu, lady, and no one gets hurt.) "Ah... a no then. Four shots, some cream and heavy on the syrup then. It'll be close enough."

She pays, then steps away from the counter to wait. Rubbing her hands together, she notices a familiar face by the window. Adam, if he sees her, gets a small smile. The man beside him, an odd look. She had the feeling she should remember him somehow, but didn't.

[Wharil Choc] "Lawyer? No jokes then, I promise." But the look on his face tells him that was already a joke in and of itself.

"Lotta interesting stuff to go lawyering about, or is it mostly contract work?"

[Adam Compton] Adam does notice Emily, and as she offers him a small smile, he directs a broader, open one in return. One dark blond brow arching. While he doesn't recall having met Wharil before now, Emily he does recall and as she finds herself with beverage in hand, and no table to call her own, he beckons. A loose gesture of one hand toward the open chair to his opposing side. Like Wharil said, window seats are a commodity, and you should take them when you can get them.

There is a devilish sparkle to Adam's clear gray blue gaze as she approaches, and he nods a greeting. "We meet again." As he says it, Wharil chooses that moment to continue their previous conversation and he looks back at the man with a chuckle. "I kind of like the jokes." Mild, mirthful disappointment drenching his tone.

"I need a little more excitement than what contract work has to offer." Which isn't exactly an answer. But it is.

[Emily Littleton] Emily collects her drink, which is nothing at all like what she was craving but close enough for tonight. She wanders across the somewhat empty shop to join them.

"It's good to see you again," she says to Adam, and the warmth in his smile touches her own, and her smile. For a moment, some burden is set aside and Emily is lighter. Happier. "G'evening to you both."

She captures a chair of her own, settles in to join them. One hand is still wrapped around the paper take away cup. "I'm Emily," she offers her free hand to Wharil, as if they hadn't met before.

[Wharil Choc] "Will." He informs her. He'd used that name with her once before. There was a chance taken there, but he had to stick with it now.

"Nice to meet you. You're a friend of Adams?"

There were some things a fake name didn't hide, however, like the way his eyes dart down to that place on her neck, hoping to get a glance at that locket again.

[Adam Compton] "We met briefly once." Adam replies for her. It is afterall too soon for them to refer to one another as friends, and it saves her the awkward explanation. Adam sits easily, and comfortable in his chair, his own tie loose about his neck, his jacket open, shirt rumpled beneath. He slips the papers he'd been looking over into the file folder and closes his briefcase with a double snap of it's hinged locks before setting it aside. "It's good to see you again." His returned reply to the young woman.

His eyes don't pry beneath her collar, though they do take a few small liberties with her features as he lifts his peppermint hot chocolate to take a slow sip. Gray blue eyes darting between his two new companions. Reveling at how easy it is to meet people when you're in a place that serves an addictive substance and plays soothing Christmas jazz in the background.

[Emily Littleton] "Hi, Will."

It's there. The thinly papable feeling of Home surrounding that small wonder was fainter, here, for the layered sweaters between it and Wharil. It thrummed quietly, subdued, but was the only resonance about her.

"We've met before, yes," Emily replied, her gaze flicking over to Adam for confirmation, even as he pretty much says the same thing. She settled back in her chair, leaning against the backrest and taking a tentative sip of her conconction. She's not burdened by a bookbag this time, doesn't carry an obvious purse. Perhaps she'd only meant to run in, grab something, and run out again.

"Odd though. Since I met you," she points a finger in Adam's direction, her mouth quirking wryly, "I've been running into the same lot over and over. Wouldn't have anything to do with that, would you?" she teased, lightly. The table was steeped in pleasantries, and Emily desperately needed something more engaging to take her mind off of... Well, nevermind that.

[Adam Compton] "No. Not me." The words form a crooked, boyishly handsome smile on his features as he replies, setting his drink aside. He shakes his head, as though to reiterate his claim as he rests his chin on the back of one loosely curled fist. "If I was capable of that, then why not save the random encounters with Emily generator for myself?"

He exudes charm. He can't help it. At moments like this, when he's being sickeningly sweet, and laying it on thick he's even rolling his eyes at himself. On the inside of course. Where he keeps a running monologue going at all times. Nice one slick. Or. Come on... really? You're getting away with this? His smile is winning, practiced and perfected over time. He uses it like a tool. At work. At play. They say that people only use 10% of their brains, and maybe that's true of their charisma and appeal in most cases. He glances at Wil briefly, wondering if the man is going to interject with something... make more conversation, or just sit pleasantly soaking in the general vicinity of Emily's chest.

[Emily Littleton] "Touche." Emily lifts her coffee cup in Adam's general direction, then takes a sip.

Emily has no such social attribute she has honed as carefully as Adam's charisma. She gets by on the slight intrigue of her other-ness--a muddled accent, a few foreign turns of phrase--and a (usually) affable temperment.

"Well, then I shall have to look elsewhere for clues to Fate's recent infatuation with my social life." The slightly self-deprecating jest is offered lightly, with a small shrug. Emily turns her attention to Will again, and his attention with her... Ahem. One hand rises to finger the chain around her neck, briefly drawing the bauble into view. It is old, ovoid and silver. It is also quickly enveloped by her fingers and hidden away from view again.

[Adam Compton] Adam notes Emily's reaction to Will's pointed look in her lockets direction, his gaze briefly flitting to the bauble before it is enveloped in slender girlish fingers. "Fate. Always been a sucker for pretty young social lives."

Adam has a way of winking, without winking. There is a glint to his eyes, playful and serene. Like a wink, but infinitly less sleazy and cliche. It's a group effort of all of his features, in the way his mouth crooks slightly at one corner, a dimple forms in one smooth cheek, a brow arches just so. This he didn't have to practice, it's always come naturally to him.

[Wharil Choc] There's a quick reddening of already ruddy cheeks as Emily and Adam both catch him in a stare. Will's eyes pop upward in that 'Yes, I know where your eyes are' way and he smiles wanly before turning his attention back to the journal and pad translating his mad scribblings into something legible. Mostly.

"I uh..." He begins to say. But how do you save yourself from that? "I personally think you're looking at it from the wrong angle. Maybe it's everyone else's luck that's bringing them to you?"

[Emily Littleton] She chuckles lightly at Will's expression. It's a low, resonant, good-natured sound. There's no anger or offense in her eyes when he finally glances upward, either. Emily doesn't seem to mind (much).

"Ah..." she lifts the index finger of the hand that holds fast her caffeine supply, and gestures a bit with that cup. "That is another way to look at it. But would that be their good luck, or bad?"

Emily didn't know the answer to that herself, given the recent nights. "Or maybe Fate has nothing to do with it at all, and has been wrongfully accused here."

[Adam Compton] "Well, if you want to sue... I'm available for consultation." His broad smile becomes a grin as he lays the play on words to rest and lifts his hot chocolate to take a light sip. He breaths a faint chuckle through his nostrils after he swallows, his gaze aglitter with mischief.

He perpetuates conversation all day long. At Starbucks, he's more content to watch and listen, while adding the occasional insight to a conversation. When he leans back in his chair and settles his hands in his lap, is with the intention of doing just that. Glancing from Will, to Emily, then out the window briefly to watch traffic.

[Wharil Choc] "Well, lets look at it this way: Anybody die yet? If the answer's no, then its all been good luck."

Will didn't have anything to pretend-toast with. But that was about to change when his order was suddenly called out at the counter. He gives a brief 'excuse me' before standing and heading over there, but leaves everything else, his journal, his notepad, his messenger back, right there. The journal and notepad left bare where any of them might take a peek. But what kind of person peeked at other people's work?

[Emily Littleton] "I might have to take you up on that," Emily quipped quickly. Adam's reparte was fun, upbeat, and combined with the caffeine leeching into her bloodstream, it was an excellent pick-me-up.

Emily's expression changed abruptly away from mischeif and merriment, and she shifted her weight unexpectedly. Setting her coffee aside, the brunette reached back and pulled her cell phone from the back pocket of her jeans. She didn't answer it, but the intrusion vexxed her.

"I..." she looked up from the slim gadget to Adam, and then Will. "I must away. It's been a pleasure, again," she offered to them both, still sure she ought to have remembered Will from somewhere.

Emily's locket hung unobscured around her neck, now, and that thrum of calm, centered, belonging was stronger.

[Adam Compton] Adam rises out of his chair. Habit from the workplace, and nods as Emily excuses herself. "I'll have a little talk with Fate. See if we can't work something out for future random encounters." His smile is pleasant, and distracting as he tips his very present drink in a false toast. "It's been a pleasure indeed."

He takes his seat again, sipping his hot chocolate and watching as Emily 'must aways', his gaze sliding over toward Will briefly before returning to his briefcase which sits closed on the floor beside his chair. With a sigh, he considers just calling Kage and telling her to meet him somewhere so they can go over this paperwork together. It is her research now afterall.

[Adam Compton] After a brief and silent consultation with himself, he decides to do just that. Excusing himself as he shrugs into his jacket and retrieves his briefcase. Casting a nice to meet you at Will as he heads out into the rainy street and home.


[Emily Littleton] Wharil, for what it's worth, gets an oddly somber look from Emily as she disentangles herself from the gathering. It is not a particularly comfortable look. As if he had said something slightly wrong, or socially unacceptable and she's trying to decide how to side-step it. Maybe Emily just didn't casually discuss death over coffee.

It's an odd note to end the encounter on, and quite at odds with that little bit of peace and quiet she wears around her neck, but what can you do? Then she's out the door and making her way down the Mile toward whatever summoned her away moments ago.