Alice looked all round the table, but there was nothing on it but tea.

[royalpassport]

Who: Jefferson, Cassian, Rhiannon, and anyone who feels like visiting the tea shop.
Where: Go Ask Alice
When: Any time in April, barring events.
What: An open catch-all log for goings on at the tea shop!
Warnings: N/A, just put them in your comment headers as needed.

[Open]

The town seems livelier these days, owing in part to everybody's recovery from the recent plague that went about. And a natural outcome of the warming weather and bustling activity is, of course, the tea room seeing more business-- which is something of a mixed bag to Jefferson, off-putting and antisocial as he can be at times.

Customers equal money: good!
Customers equal Jefferson having to deal with people and responsibilities more often: not so good.

But at least the shop's running smoothly-- or, at least, as smoothly as a place staffed by a rebel spy, a garbage eating bird, and the Mad Hatter can be. They've even started hosting occasional events, like open mic nights for poetry and creative writing and music. All in the name of cultivating the arts in Wayward Pines! Such as it is. (It's definitely not an excuse for Jefferson and Rhi to snicker behind the counters.)

So come on in and have a cup of tea. Or, well, anything else on the menu. And enjoy the music (and the staff selected music). And... the company of the (occasionally, to varying degrees) helpful staff.

Comments

Cassian Andor & YOU (all threads open to customers & coworkers)

[ouzel]

one: a mostly empty shop

When the shop is empty and Jefferson is not too grumbly about it, Cassian tends to change the music. It's all fun stuff, and pretty upbeat, it's just not...in English. For the most part.

But he knows all the words and his singing voice isn't that bad, actually, so. Win-win?

When he's not sighing at Rhiannon for literally eating out of the trash can, or gently trying to figure out if Jefferson needs food, caffeine, water, space, or just a quiet padded room where no one can bother him, he's usually trying to manage the inventory or actually baking in the back.

Somehow he always ends up with flour in his hair. It's rather frustrating; Kay would have something to say about how inefficient he is with this civilian life.

two: an event!

Cassian flat out refuses to participate in open mic night. Sure, he'll serve and bake and clean up after (though Rhiannon has first dibs on all foodstuffs) but standing up there? Reading poetry? That he's supposed to have written, or enjoys? No. More like hell no.

He does listen with rapt attention, though, occasionally shaking his head at Jefferson and Rhi and their snarky commentary. It's probably a good thing, to give people an outlet. He just wonders how long it'll be until every poem is an attack against the powers that be, or a reach for memories that aren't quite right (or that someone doesn't want to be right.)

three: a card of wild design

[ This is the choose your own adventure option! Since Cassian is more or less management, he's here...nearly every day. ]

ONE

[royalpassport]

It's a good thing Cassian makes sure to handle a lot of the nitty gritty involved in running a business, because if left to Jefferson, nothing would get done with any regularity. His skills, it seems, lie less i management and more in knowing way too much about tea (and tea parties), fussing around the front of the shop (making sure everything looks right), and in... looking like a dapper anachronism? Wait, does that make Jefferson the shop mascot?

It doesn't help that he has just enough of his memories back to be a pain in the ass, but not enough to direct his more irritating tendencies towards anything particularly productive. (On the plus side, he doesn't seem to care to hoard all profits for himself, so his staff are well compensated to deal with his moods and his 'approach' to management.)

And so, on one slow day, Jefferson's leaning against the counter, enjoying a cup of tea and tending to the occasional customer as Cassian handles the inventory. When the other man returns to the front of the shop-- possibly to inventory the teas on display behind the counter-- Jefferson speaks up in a thoughtful voice:

"I'm thinking about taking hot chocolate off the menu."

[ouzel]

[ Cassian tilts his head sharply in a way that Jefferson probably recognizes to mean I think that's foolish, not quite frowning but definitely not too thrilled. ]

No less than four people have asked about hot chocolate in the last two weeks. [ He starts counting the teas, marking ones on a list the need reordering. ] A better idea would be to make it available year round, and offer several varieties in winter instead.

What brought this idea on?

[royalpassport]

[ Jefferson shrugs a little, then gestures grandly to all the, well. Tea. ]

Because this is a tea house. Not a... coffee shop. If people want hot chocolate, they can go there.

[ He sounds a bit sulky as he explains his reasoning. It's almost like Jefferson's taking the demand for hot chocolate personally. ]

I should take coffee off the menu while I'm at it.

[ouzel]

[ Someone who didn't know Jefferson as well as Cassian did might have asked him if he was crazy, in that moment. Instead, Cassian's eyebrows looked like they were going to attempt parkour off his face, onto his hairline and into the air. ]

Problem with that.

[ Cassian starts ticking off his fingers, slowly. ]

One: Rhiannon would quit, probably stating that she worked in a hostile work environment.

Two: We have no fewer than seven regulars, including your landlord, who drink our coffee.

Three: Do you have any idea how many pots I make in a day? Especially a day when Rhi and I are both working.

You're not taking coffee off the menu. Not if you want to keep your employees.

Is this about Emma? [ Because she comes in, every day, and asks Cassian about hot chocolate. Every. Day. ]

[royalpassport]

[ What? Why is Cassian countering with reason and facts, laid out point by point? Jefferson glances down at Cassian's fingers as he ticks off his points, eyes narrowing as if they're offending him by... counting.

But Jefferson does want to keep his employees, as he's quite certain he couldn't run the place without them. Even if they are coffee-chugging traitors. So he frowns and shakes his head, as if clearing his mind of the silly notion of taking coffee off the menu. ]

Fine. The coffee can stay.

[ Jefferson pinches the bridge of his nose with a huff. ]

No. [ Pause. He drops his hand and looks at Cassian. ] Yes. Kind of. She's not the only one.

[ouzel]

[ Because this is what Cassian does, it's how he helps you organize your business, Jefferson, (and sometimes your life) into smaller, easier to tackle pieces.

It's why you hired him. Probably. ]

Thank you.

[ Cassian gives Jefferson a little bit of a half-smile. ] If it makes you feel better, there will probably be a boost to profits, and ingredients aren't any harder to get year round. Plus she'll be paying you for it.

Also, pettiness after a certain age is just a signal of suffering.

[sirnyxalot]

[Shortly after Cassian's call Nyx is stepping into the store and coming to an immediate halt as the decor assaults his eyes.

This is certainly not a place he'd ever walk in willingly on any other circumstances. He's the type to hang out in dingy dive bars, not fancy tea shops, and his outfit certainly makes him look out of place. But he's doing a favor for a friend so he bites his lip and finally lets the door close behind him.]

I hope this drink is worth it.

[ouzel]

It's worth it, don't worry.

[ The only one who's outfit doesn't look out of place is probably Jefferson; Cassian keeps to denim pants and button-up flannels, so it's definitely not him who matches the decor.

Either way, now that Nyx is here, Cassian can get on with making the drink (Jefferson doesn't make the drinks, unless they're tea and he's there, and he doesn't feel beleaguered by customers, which means Cassian makes the drinks, really. ]

[sirnyxalot]

[He feels better seeing Cassian similarly out of place. He strolls up to the counter and leans his hip against it, hands tucked into his pockets.]

So what am I even trying?

[royalpassport]

[ As if on cue, Jefferson steps out from the back office, where he probably retreated to sulk for a bit. Why is he being harassed so much over cocoa? It makes him want to take anything and everything with chocolate off the menu out of spite.

Arms crossed, he looks between Cassian and Nyx, from one to the other, then back again and--

Oh. To his credit, he manages not to make too startled a face at the sight of Nyx, because he recognizes him from... some vague memory that can't quite piece together yet. But he's pretty sure it involved nudity. Clearing his throat a little, he looks at Cassian again. ]

He's unbiased, right? Nonpartisan?

[ Sorry, Nyx, talking directly to you is too awkward right now. ]

[ouzel]

Hot chocolate. Good stuff, not that powdered just add water mierda you find at the store.

[ Okay what...was that expression, Jeff, because now Cassian is feeling self-conscious. Has he said or done something to indicate his level of personal interest in Nyx? Do the two of them (Jeff and Nyx) have previously-unrecalled history? Which really just leads to him standing a bit straighter and his eyebrows being less expressive.

It's like a proto-Cassian mask has slipped into place and it works so well it's difficult to tell it's a mask in the first place. ]

He's my friend, but he's only had the coffee. [ Which Jeff is NOT taking off the menu, so Cassian feels safe in pointing this out. ] Nyx this is Jefferson, my boss and the owner. Jeff this is Nyx, he works for your landlord at the gym.

[sirnyxalot]

[Nyx sees Jefferson and is too busy staring at him to notice Cassian's expression shift. He...recalls significantly less scarves. Less everything, in fact. He licks his lip, glancing away at the shop itself and crossing his arms.

Under his breath:]

Well, this is awkward.

[You know...an ex-girlfriend is one thing, but if he's going to be getting intimate memories of other people he'd rather have been an active participant in his own life.

It's fine. This is fine. It's not really a Thing if he doesn't make it one. He turns back, expression pleasant.]

I'm expecting literal magic here, you know.

Clary Fray - April 10th [-ish] OPEN

[babyhunter]

Clary stopped in just after school, hoping to see more of the small tea shop. She'd come here to meet Magnus and Alec a few days before but hadn't gotten a very good look at it then. She took a seat towards the front left of the cute shop and pulled her sketchbook onto her lap. After a quick glance over the menu she ordered a mixed berry tart, a small plate of mini sandwiches and an orange blossom tea. It was relaxing though the music didn't exactly fit the feel of the rest of the shop.

Once she'd gotten her food she opened her sketchbook, her bright green eyes flicking around the room at the other customers and those standing behind the counter.

It was an interesting place. If she were to draw the shop itself it would be in the middle of a dense forest with a very clear paved road to it, perhaps a yellow road or a bright orange one? Clary lost herself to her thoughts while her pencil scratched across the paper in front of her. Without thinking about it she drew a collection of small animals at the foot of the road.

When she was finished with that sketch she'd take a small sip of her tea, nibble a bit of her food and then turn the page. She tried to imagine those who worked in the shop, how they'd stand or what they would wear in her pictures.

Clary was completely engrossed in her task, occasionally nibbling at the food placed at her table but otherwise only vaguely aware of those around her.

i'm late, i'm late for a very important date

[comic_relief]

Perpetually on the search for familiar ground to rest his feet on, Jack sometimes drops in on Jefferson's establishment for two reasons: a place to sit and chill out reminds him a bit of Akademeia's hang out spots, and Jefferson had done a good job repairing Jack's battered cadet uniform the month prior. That alone makes him feel a bit indebted to the guy's tailoring skills. Might as well put more money into his shop, right? It's not like he's doing anything else with it (except feeding and watering a chocobo, Etro only knows why, the damn thing eats a lot and makes more noise than an air raid siren).

Once Jack's decided what he wants and paid up at the counter, he's just about to take his soda to a seat when he spies--

"Clary?"

The name is out of his mouth before he can stop it, and he freezes in place. For a disorienting second, the six foster sisters he'd grown up with compete for space in his mind with a different girl. Hair a lighter shade of red than Cater's, but just as full of spunky energy. Not close in the same way as one of Mother's children, but close in a different way.

Bemusement clouds his face, confused by his own reaction. Uh, where had that come from?

Hope this is good~

[babyhunter]

Clary looked up when she heard her name being called. At first the voice wasn't familiar but as her eyes landed on Jack clear and vivid memories rose to mine. Her best friend. They'd been friends all through grade school, spending late nights debating the stupidest things about cartoons and other topics that had no real world baring on life but had felt like life or death at the time. Having him near by felt as natural as breathing, like a piece of herself that she hadn't known had been missing.

Her lips tug into a smile. "Jack!" How could she forget him? They've been friends for as long as Clary can remember.

She waved him over, pushing her plate and cup aside so that there was room across from her. "Sit. What's up? I feel like it's been forever." Probably because she doesn't remember all that much but it's slowly coming back.

She places her sketchbook to the side, the imagine of the shop facing the ceiling as she turns her attention towards Jack.

it's perf! let's pretend i was also in the right tense, d'oh

[comic_relief]

The girl--no, her name was Clary, an abbreviation like his that made them nickname twins--

--no, no, no, that never happened, though, why does he keep remembering these things?--

A person's head wasn't built to handle this kind of internal warfare. Clary, as his mind insisted on supplying, smiled and Jack felt the keen urge to run away. He could wrap his fist around his emotions like a leash and control them, he could tackle situations that made grown men piss themselves, but how did you fight a feeling that was already inside you?

Stronger than his urge to run was his urge to smile back, relax around her, and fall into a routine that only existed inside his head. That scared Jack more than a firing composed of Militesi gunners.

"Um... hey." Smooth. His smile found footing on his face again, wobbly but still there. His approach was slow and tinged with wariness like a dog being lured into the backseat of the dog catcher's van with a bone, but even so, his reply had a casualness that spoke of many years catching Clary lost in her thoughts. "If I hadn't said something, you wouldn't even have noticed I was here, admit it."

But like knowing how Nyx took his coffee, Clary's myopic focus was something that... Jack shouldn't know. This goddamn town wasn't his home.

But still, he sat, obediently accepting her invitation.

<3 You're perfect love

[babyhunter]

His word echoed in her head though they were spoken by someone else and they sounded angry. She pushed the thought away and focused instead on Jack. She knew him, her memories wouldn't lie to her and as she reached back she'd always had a best friend. Jack was her best friend.

There was no reason to doubt it.

She flashed him a sheepish smile. "To my defense my memory has been a little wonky. Besides, I think I really captured the essence of the tea shop." She was playing if off lightly, holding her sketchbook so she can see the shop she'd drawn positioned comfortably between towering trees and a few oddly sized mushrooms. Clary knew that it bothered him but she's always been like that. She'd fall into her art and not eat if she didn't have someone reminding her.

"What do you think?" Jack was one of the few people who got to see all of her drawings. Some were like diary notes and she didn't trust everyone to look at them. Jack wasn't just anyone.

[comic_relief]

"Oh." There was a mixed bag of emotion in that 'oh', confusion, relief, understanding, disappointment.

Little more than a month ago, Jack was supposed to be dead after events in Pandemonium. Knowing the end was coming had been bearable because when he cried he wasn't the only one crying, and when he laughed he wasn't the only one laughing--he was with the other children, comrades-in-arms he'd done everything with since he was small.

And now here he was, inexplicably alive and well and remembering other people in his life--a life that had no room for other people outside Mother and his class of twelve.

That was what he knew. But logic had little bearing on what he felt, and looking at Clary he wanted to make her number thirteen, something that felt right in one world and wrong in the other; with one foot in either, it took Jack a moment to drag himself back from the tug of war happening inside him and focus on what she was holding up.

"You're really good," he observed as if for the first time, some impressed surprise leaking into his tone.

Alec Lightwood & You

[angelic_archer]

Open Mic Night

It didn't seem like the kind of thing he would do. Some hint of the past told him that he preferred to hide from the spotlight with few people noticing him, but Wayward Pines was supposed to be his place to escape who he'd been and figure out who he could be without... Without something that he couldn't currently define but he knew it had been stifling and he'd hated who he'd been forced to pretend to be.

Somehow Alec had been talked into standing in front of everyone and reciting poetry. He wasn't even sure how he knew the verses but once he started, the words flowed easily. None of them were his own work. Some were well known and some might have even been in a foreign language depending on who was listening. Taking a deep breath, he looked around the room before asking, "Does anyone want a certain type of poem?" He wasn't sure what he would and wouldn't remember. It made the whole situation like a game or a training exercise. Would he remember something that would fit the request?

[appetitive]

When Alec had suggested visiting the tea house during open mic night, Magnus had been thrilled for a number of reasons. He enjoyed the atmosphere as well as the selection of teas the place carried, but more than that was his eagerness to support Alec. Poetry seemed to hold more than a little meaning for both of them if their wedding vows were anything to judge by, and Magnus had a love for words and their manipulation. Also, going out in the evenings to a quaint tea shop just struck him as something that a married couple might do.

So he encouraged Alec to at least attend, even if he didn't end up using the mic himself. But sitting at their table, looking up at him as he prepared a poem, Magnus couldn't have been prouder of his husband. He knew that it wasn't characteristic of him to call attention to himself, but Magnus hoped that having a friendly face in the audience helped. Eyes twinkling as he watched Alec, and not just because of the glitter lining his lashes, Magnus lifted a hand to shield his mouth and make it less obvious where his suggestion was coming from as he said, "Do you know anything in Latin?"

[angelic_archer]

There had been a hint of something in the back of his mind that made Alec think that open mic nights had been something that he'd regularly done with his siblings. They'd watched someone play, but the fragments hadn't included Magnus. The teasing pieces of their old life in New York were frustrating, making him miss his siblings fiercely but he refused to let that ruin something that had made him happy before.

It might not be the most exciting date night, but it had the potential to be romantic. They both loved the setting, enjoying tea and indulging Alec's sweet tooth while appreciating the play of words that their neighbors and friends shared with the other patrons.

Even if he didn't remember ever performing at those open mic nights, he didn't see any reason not to tonight when Magnus was in the audience. Maybe if his husband hadn't been there, he would have remained in his seat, watching others. Magnus always seemed to make Alec want to do things that made his feelings obvious to his husband. Like they both needed the reassurance after so many people telling them that their relationship wouldn't work.

Shaking his head at his husband's attempt at being subtle, Alec grabbed his other hand, running a finger over the ring that he'd given Magnus before giving him a wry smile. "I think I can think of some something you'll like."

Ignoring the nervous butterflies that swooped into existence as he stood in front of the crowd, his gaze settled onto Magnus for a moment before he closed his eyes. It took a moment to remember all the words, but once he did, they flowed easily.

sic erit; haeserunt tenues in corde sagittae,
et possessa ferus pectora versat Amor.
Cedimus, an subitum luctando accendimus ignem?
cedamus! leve fit, quod bene fertur, onus.*

It was strange that the poem was so easy for him to remember when the details of why they'd moved to town were still a blur.


(*Thus it will be; slender arrows are lodged in my heart, and Love vexes the chest that it has seized. Shall I surrender or stir up the sudden flame by fighting it? I will surrender - a burden becomes light when it is carried willingly.)

[appetitive]

For Magnus, it seemed that every moment with Alec was an exciting one. While a night of poetry at a teahouse wasn't as exhilarating as something like bungee jumping, Magnus supposed that was part of what marriage entailed: quiet nights together that still meant the world to both of them. Magnus had memories of much of the world—at times an impossible amount of them, considering his age—but there was no place he'd rather be than by Alec's side.

He watched as Alec fidgeted, fingers tracing over the wedding band. Giving him an encouraging wink, Magnus smiled up at him where he stood and seemed to mentally prepare himself. As Alec began, Magnus focused on the words as much as the man speaking them. He understood, partially to his surprise as he didn't remember ever studying the language. Images of arrows and fire danced in his mind, memories conjured up by the words. It was perplexing to be reminded by words he doubted he had heard before, but the memories flowed much the same way the poem itself did. And Magnus loved Alec's voice enough to have enjoyed him reading the phone book, so he found it easy to be lost to the experience.

[angelic_archer]

It wasn't until he'd finished reciting the words of love that he realized that it wasn't the type of selection the other patrons probably wouldn't have made. The poem wasn't in English. Latin, he realized, not understanding how he knew the language or why the images of arrows and flame were so important to him.

Maybe the connection to fire was because of Magnus' magic and the arrows... he'd been an archer but he'd assumed that it was a hobby. Instead it felt like it was as an integral part of him as the spells that Magnus was still trying to control.

As his audience clapped politely, most of them looking confused, Alec almost recited the verse again in English when suddenly he could almost feel a bow in his hand. The sounds of battle echoed in his head as disorientating blur of motion - fighting - almost made him forget where he was. Forcing a smile, he walked back to the table, not realizing that his hand was pressed against his side.

The strange thoughts faded as he sat down beside Magnus, nearly forgotten when he saw how his husband smiling shyly before reaching for his tea. It took another few seconds to realize that his other hand was still resting against one of the runes that marked his skin. "Was it okay? I'm sorry it was in Latin. It was the first thing I thought of."

[appetitive]

Magnus clapped along with the rest of the patrons as Alec finished, slightly louder than everyone else though that was due to the possibility that he had been the only one to understand the Latin words. It had been beautifully recited, whether or not the listener could translate the meaning.

Recognizing Alec's strained smile, Magnus frowned in concern. He doubted that it had anything to do with the poetry, at least directly, and he was halfway to standing when Alec finally came back to sit at the table. The haunted expression on Alec's features passed, but Magnus still scooted his chair closer to Alec's so they could sit next to each other. "Darling, are you alright? You look pale, drink some tea."

He reached out for his hand, the one that seemed to be clutching at the skin beneath it, and laced their fingers together. "It was beautiful, Alexander. I loved the Latin and the imagery."