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support a local business!

Who: Jefferson and OPEN
Where: Jefferson's tea shop, Go Ask Alice
When: Anytime from March 1 - 10 (barring events, in which case I'll edit this)
What: Just a catch-all now that Jefferson's F I N A L L Y not hiding inside his house 24/7
Warnings: References to mental illness, at most. Will update as necessary.

[Open]

When the snow cleared enough for businesses to open again, Jefferson decided it was time to finally venture into the shop he owns. His mind being as muddled as it is, he couldn't remember actually running this place. It was like... his ownership of the tea shop was a fact that he knew, intellectually, but he couldn't muster any feelings or impressions associated with it.

Not until he set foot inside, anyway. Then it came to him, scattered recollections of setting up shop and managing day-to-day operations worming their way back into his head. Yes, he realized, as he made his way through the shop, from the front room to the back, this is mine. And yet, even then... Certain things were jarring, at odds with his sense of self, such as it is, fragmented and quite possibly deluded.

The decor, it's all wrong. Not to his tastes, even if he can recall picking out this thing and that. And besides, there's something about the mere idea of teatime that sets him on edge, though he can't quite place the why of it.

But at least this little tea shop is something of a sanctuary. If he's here, then he doesn't have to be in that hostile, unpleasant place he's forced to call home. So he opened the shop back up and, with much of the staff having moved on during those weeks he kept the business closed with no word of ever reopening, he's left operating with a skeleton crew. It keeps him busy, if nothing else, and distracted from the mad, impossible fantasies swimming in his head.

By now, he practically lives at the tea shop. Sometimes, he even sleeps in the office here. It's not the healthiest way of going about his life, but a reliance on unhealthy coping mechanisms, too, is familiar. At least there's a strange comfort in that.

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When the bell jingles, Jefferson looks up from the book he's reading-- some fantasy story about knights and magic, which he knows is fiction, even if some parts seem to ring true-- looking at the young woman as if she's a stranger. But then, as she looks about the shop with a dazed and lost sort of expression, he starts to feel this odd tug of familiarity in his mind, and he shakes off the initial assumption that he doesn't know her.

It's Kenzi. She lives here, just like he lives here. No, he's not sure when he met her or what she even does-- trying to pin down any specifics only has him feeling that now-familiar (and entirely frustrating) haziness that's been fogging over much of his mind since his accident.

"Earl grey tea. Lots of milk and sugar. And the biggest cookie I've got," he finds himself saying, as if he's said this a thousand times before. But just as he finishes reciting an order he hasn't even been given, Jefferson blinks, brow furrowed, nose wrinkled slightly, and shakes his head. "That's... what you want, right?" he adds, uncertainty leaking into his voice.

Kenzi turns veeeeeery sloooooowly, wide-eyed like a deer in the forest standing on two legs that just realised it could understand people-words.

Is he talking to her? He's talking to her. Oh god, he's talking to her. How does he know that's totally her fave tea and the right amount of sugar and milk and big cookies are the best cookies, why even waste time with tiny cookies? They're pointless!

She stares at him for another minute, looking five times more uncertain than he just sounded. "Ye...eees? But how did you know that? DUDE! ..." She finally approaches the counter and looks around nervously before looking back to him. "Are you psychic? Some kind of tea-and-cookies warlock? ... Did you read it in some tea leaves?"

"A warlock? I don't--" Jefferson stops himself, because he can tell he's about to say something ridiculous. Something like 'I don't have the training for that or any other kind of magic' instead of the obvious and correct response: warlocks aren't real.

He scrubs a hand over his mouth and shakes his head, trying to push any nonsense out of his mind. Because if he starts to think about magic too much, then the vivid delusions of a fantasy world will start clawing their way back to the surface. Jefferson's gaze flickers to the book he'd been reading, momentarily. That damn story already set him on this train of thought, didn't it? Next time, he'll have to find something more grounded in realism to read.

"It's... what you always order when you come here," he says slowly, as if he's not quite certain he believes himself.

They could be real! She thinks... Maybe... it's weird knowing the names for things without any context to pull from. A thought just floats in and then it's gone before she can catch it and make it stick. She knows warlocks are a thing, but she doesn't remember watching TV or reading stupid books like the one this guy just glanced at. She also knows what stop signs are and how to read and, thankfully, her own name, though she's having trouble remembering a last name that sticks. Still, everything is just a fleeting sense of that's what this is with no memory to anchor it.

Except this. This is different. He tells her that this is her regular order and something about it just feels right. It's got substance. Kenzi looks puzzled at first, but slowly the pieces of that puzzle float by in a translucent, intangible hint of a memory. She can almost see herself at this very counter, making that order, and smiling at the man she's talking to right now. It's got more of a hold than most of the things people have been telling her lately. He suddenly seems familiar...

"I come here a lot? I mean, I've been here before?" She sounds skeptical, cautious, but also... hopeful. Like maybe he knows her and maybe he can tell her what happened or why she's here or where the hell she's supposed to be.

Does she come here a lot? Jefferson can't rightly say. If he tries to think on it, he doesn't really come up with any answer in any direction. His fingers seem to try to dig into the counter, knuckles straining and going white as he thinks, however briefly, that he'd like to hit something out of sheer frustration. As if striking the counter or bashing his head against the wall will shake everything loose.

It takes some effort, but his fingers relax and he drops his hands down to his sides and moves towards the case of desserts and pastries, to get a look at the cookies and pick out whichever one's the biggest. Working keeps the aggravation at bay, he reminds himself.

"Enough that I know your usual order." He puts on a perfectly concerned expression, as if this is his first time coming across somebody with a faulty memory in Wayward Pines. "Everything okay?"

Edited 2017-03-02 16:47 (UTC)

Kenzi frowns, dropping her gaze and shoving her hands in the pockets of her hoodie when he looks at her like there's something seriously wrong with her. No, she thinks, everything's not okay. There was an accident she can't remember and she doesn't even know who she is aside from a few basic facts that kind of add up to a potentially shitty person. The only cash she has on her at the moment is money she stole and she's got a key to a house that she's never seen before as far as she knows.

"Yeah, fine. I'm just... messing with you." Nice cover, Kenz, real fucking believable. You don't even know the guy's name. You barely know your OWN name! She chews on her lower lip, still not feeling up to looking him in the eye because then he'll know she's lying through her teeth.

"Do you mind if I get it for here? I kinda wanna sit today..." Assuming she usually gets it to go. Fuck. She has no idea what she usually does! Well... no solid idea. Faintly, she can see herself getting a little, paper bag for her cookie and a lid for her tea and heading out the door.

Jefferson's expression softens, just a little, when she starts to frown and look uncomfortable, because it isn't as if he doesn't know what it's like to experience gaps in his memory, like he's not living it right now. He grabs a little plate for the cookie (floral, like practically everything here), and picks out the largest one for her. Chocolate chip, still fresh from the bakery's morning delivery.

Her quick save has Jefferson snorting. "Yeah, that seems to be a popular pastime," he mutters, almost in a knee-jerk sort of way. It's followed by a little wince, because really, he doesn't need to vent at a customer.

He slides the cookie over to Kenzi. "Have a seat. I'll bring you a pot."

This is the greatest cookie she has ever seen in her entire life. Not just because it's the only cookie she remembers, it's just THAT INCREDIBLE!

Kenzi's expression instantly lights up as he slides the cookie over to her, barely noticing the way he mutters about getting messed with by apparently more people than just her. Now she actually feels bad ... for someone... else? What is this feeling? It keeps happening! Why couldn't she have lost her conscience instead of her memory? Gross.

She doesn't have time to apologize, though, but she does offer him a bright and cheery, genuine smile as she picks up the cute, little plate. "Thanks."

The table by the window is nice and sunny, but Kenzi finds herself stopping at a seat closer to the counter for some reason. Maybe so she can carry on a conversation with the only person that seems to actually recognize her so far. It's not like she's got a crush on the guy or anything, it's more like ... latching onto the only thread of familiarity she has. Or maybe she just doesn't want to be alone in a strange place where she doesn't know anyway! Whatever.

She sets the cookie down and flops into the chair, picking a piece off the edge and popping it into her mouth. It's still waaaarm. And gooooey! This is the best cookie she's ever eaten!

He's taken aback by the smile, but not in an unpleasant way. Just... surprised, because it feels like it's been a very long time since he's had anyone look at him like that. Which makes some sense, he supposes. He's obviously not well, and he's recently gotten out of a miserable relationship (much of which he can't even remember)... Who would want to have all that much to do with him?

Jefferson finds himself returning the smile before turning to prepare a pot of tea for her. Once it's ready, the leaves steeped the appropriate amount of time before being removed from the pot, Jefferson sets the table for her, bit by bit, until she's got her saucer, cup, and spoon, plus a bowl of fancy sugar cubes (in various shapes!) and a little pitcher of milk. Finally, he brings her the pot.

"Here you go." He pauses, lingering a little awkwardly, then adds, "Well. Let me know if you need anything else."

The set up is immaculate. Everything is adorable. She's starting to see why maybe she comes here a lot. Actual sugar cubes, a real teacup and a little teapot, it's like being at some fancy, high tea with ladies in big hats. It's like a little kid's tea party but all grown up.

Her smile remains in place and she watches him with interest as he sets everything down. There aren't any fancy, hat-wearing ladies or stuffed animals to put into chairs, but the way he lingers by the table...

Kenzi reaches out to gently grab his wrist, "Wait. Do you wanna sit? I mean it's not like you have a line up or anything."

Apparently she has no problem with personal space or physical contact, because she's still awkwardly holding onto his wrist with an expectant, almost pleading look on her face. Don't leave her alone.

"Oh. I wasn't--" he starts, glancing down at her with a somewhat alarmed look. But then he sees that silent plea on her face and relents. Jefferson casts a quick look at the counter, then the door, as if to confirm Kenzi's observation. Yeah, the shop's empty, save for the two of them. And he's the owner, so who's going to tell him he can't sit down and chat with someone?

"I can sit for a while," he concedes, shooting her a quick smile before he takes a sea. What an odd pair they must make, Kenzi in high-heeled boots and fishnet, and Jefferson in his scarf and waistcoat and multiple, mixed patterns, sitting in his cute, flowery little tea shop.

Okay. So. Conversation.

He can do this.

"I'm glad you came in. It's been... slow. Today." Most days, actually, because it's not as if he's bothered to advertise that the shop's up and running again.

He already looks way happier than when she first walked in. Maybe they're friends, or at least friendly acquaintances. She nods when he agrees to sit with her. Exactly, he's the owner! He can make his own breaks and chat up the customers. Not that Kenzi knows that. Fuck, she doesn't even know his name!

Excuse her while she pours herself some tea and adds FOUR cubes of sugar and then drowns it in milk. The spoon makes a lovely little clinking noise when she stirs it. "Yeah? So it's usually way busier than this?" One customer is better than no customers.

Keeping this front up is getting difficult, though. Especially if she wants to get any information out of him. She sets her spoon down on the napkin and suddenly looks very serious, and maybe just a little bit guilty. "Okay, so... I might have been bullshitting you a little bit about messing with you before. I legit have no idea who you are, what your name is, or... pretty much anything else about anything? Apparently there was an accident and, like, the hospital was craycray and people were everywhere and I just had to get out so--"

Word vomit, Kenz. The guy doesn't need your super fast dump of the last little while in his lap when he's just trying to sell some tea.

"I'm not even totally sure who I am!"

He watches what she's doing to the tea, trying not to wince too much, but that's so much sugar and milk. How can she appreciate the fine flavors of the tea itself?! Jefferson does his best to keep his expression neutral.

"Yeah." He thinks so, anyway. Maybe not way busier, but certainly not empty. How else would this place stay in business?

Jefferson draws in a breath when Kenzi starts to unload on him, his eyes betraying some nervousness. What she's describing, after all, is about identical to his own experience, one month ago.

"I--" he starts, then shuts his mouth, his brow knitted with worry. "My name's Jefferson." An easy enough place to start. He chooses his next words carefully. "The... fog in your head. It'll pass. Just give it some time." His hands wring together in his lap, and he glances down at them for a moment. "The same thing happened to me. I was hit by a car a month ago."

Listen, she's appreciating the flavours of the sugar and the milk. Just shush your cute mouth, buddy.

"Jefferson." She repeats, feeling a little lighter already after getting that out of the way and off her chest. Despite the weight being lifted, worry starts to creep in when he talks about going through the exact same thing that's happening to him now.

"Dude!" She leans forward, both hands on the table, staring at him in disbelief. "Seriously? You aren't enacting vengeance right now for earlier, are you? What are the chances?"

Two cases of incredibly similar head trauma with subsequent memory loss a month apart? Not to mention the girl at the police station. Shit, that's three. Kenzi frowns, looking down at the cookie on her plate. That creepy, sinking feeling she felt in the hospital is coming back, but when she looks at the teacup and the shop and Jefferson, it manages to calm her a little with that sense of familiarity.

"My name's Kenzi, right?" Kenzi Adams? Kenzi Rogers? At one point she thought it was Toni Soprano, but that was definitely an alias. She can't seem to pin the last name down.

It's hard to say what the chances are, since he's kept himself, well... scarce since his accident. He knows he isn't the only one, but he's not sure how widespread it is. He just looks a little uneasy and doesn't offer up any answers for that particular question.

"You're Kenzi," he nods. That was the first thing he knew about her when she walked in. Her last name, though... That's a mystery to him. "It's probably normal to be so disoriented after an accident." It sounds as if he's assuring himself of that, though, not Kenzi. He doesn't even know what her accident was, after all.

"Probably." She doesn't sound so convinced as she picks up her teacup, pinky out because she's DAINTY, and takes a sip. Perfect. It warms her as it goes down, taking some of the chill out of her bones. One more sip and she sets it back down on the saucer with as little clattering as possible. Her hands are shaking slightly. Is that normal after an accident, too?

"I still don't know what happened. I kinda... freaked and bailed before the doctor showed up." She breaks another piece of cookie off to pop in her mouth. After a second, she breaks off half of it and offers it to Jefferson.

"Did you sue the guy that hit you?"

Well done with that dainty sip, Kenzi. Jefferson totally approves-- even if she did ruin her tea with so much milk and sugar. It's almost offensive, really... But then, she offers him a piece of cookie, and that seems to smooth his ruffled feathers.

(Look, he owns a tea shop. HE TAKES TEA SERIOUSLY.)

So he accepts the offered bit of cookie with a small, thankful smile.

"I did the same," he admits. "I grabbed the first robe I could find and wandered out into the streets." And looked positively... eccentric.

He looks a little chagrined at Kenzi's question, and stalls for a moment by popping the cookie into his mouth.

"Um. No. It was my fault. Apparently."

He took the cookie! This is totally friendship. They are totally friends. That's the only explanation. Kenzi grins and then full on beams at him when he tells her he ditched the hospital, too!

"Seriously? Great minds think alike I guess. I stole some scrubs and slippers and a mask and busted outta there as soon as I could. I mean, I wasn't hooked up to anything so I'm probably fine. It's not like they have memory loss pills." If they did, she would have stolen those, too.

Now she feels even more at ease with him, sharing things she would have otherwise kept to herself. He seems like a kindred spirit or something. Someone that gets her. Someone that knows what she's going through.

"Your fault? How is getting hit by a car your fault? Did you put it in neutral, walk away, and get hit when it rolled out of the driveway?" Because that... would be hilarious.

Great minds think alike? Again, Kenzi surprises him, and again she's rewarded with a startled, but genuine, smile from Jefferson. It practically lights up his face for a moment.

"Stealing as a first resort. I wonder what that says about us," he teases. Jefferson wonders, too, if she had the same knee-jerk feelings of aversion to the whole hospital setting. At first, he didn't quite understand it, but as he started to recover from his accident, it started to make sense. With his... unfortunate history, he'd spent some time in hospitals.

Jefferson stares at her for a moment, but then he can't help but laugh. "No! But it's about as embarrassing. I was... drunk and jaywalking. At night."

Oh. He ... has a really nice smile. It's the first time she's noticed. Now it's almost hard to take her eyes off him as she takes another sip of her sugary tea.

"It says we are skilled, resourceful people that don't wait around for stuff to happen. Pretty sure that's called being proactive." She smirks, pleased with herself for that response. At least she knows she's a thief. It's about the only solid thing she's got as far as a sense of self.

.......And then he fesses up about the accident and she laughs, too, almost spitting tea out all over herself in the process. Better set that cup down before something happens to it. "Are you freakin' kidding me? DUDE! Now I know we're friends."

"Are we? I think I like that interpretation." It's certainly nicer than the self-loathing he's been drowning himself in these past few weeks.

Jefferson lets out an amused snort as she very nearly sprays her tea out with laughter. This is quite possibly the most relaxed he's felt since his accident, and there's this brief spike of resentment that he has to hide out at work to find any measure of contentment, when he should by all rights have it at home, too.

"Why? Do you get drunk and jump in front of cars often?"

Haha, does she get drunk and jump in front of cars often?

...

Does she?

The joy slowly seeps out of her as she retreats into herself to think about it and gets lost in that fog, that void where memories should be. She's quiet as she thinks about it, staring down at a particular spot of nothing on the table. She doesn't know if she does anything often. She doesn't know anything about herself, save for a few pieces that fit together but leave the rest of the puzzle so blank and empty.

She presses her lips together in a thin line, avoiding his gaze so he can't see the way her eyes start to water.

"I don't know." Her voice is quiet and unsteady, nothing like it was before.

Oh no, this is why he can't have nice things. The look on her face sends a little pang of guilt through Jefferson, which only intensifies when he sees the tears building up in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he says, in a softer voice than usual, trying to temper the usual edge he speaks with. "You'll remember again. I did."

Edited 2017-03-03 17:25 (UTC)

The soft voice seems to do the trick and she shakes off the sadness with a forced smile, laughing at how stupid and silly she's being. Hahaha, what a silly thing, having FEELINGS and shit. That's just weird. "It's okay. I'm fine."

She's not fine, but she's going to eat the rest of her cookie and maybe the chocolate chips will help her go back to pretending everything's fine so she can carry on a conversation with the nice man like a normal person. He's actually making an effort here, she can't fault him for that. She can't fault him for anything, really.

"You've been... really sweet. Like, legit trying to help me and stuff. So... thanks."

Jefferson blinks in surprise. Sweet? He's trying to remember if anyone's ever called him that before. If they had, it must have been ages ago, because he really can't figure out why else it's so jarring to hear. But he takes to the kindness like somebody who's been starved of it for a long time, leaning forward in his seat so that he can reach across the table to lay one of his hands over hers. It's a light, tentative touch, because he'd much rather see her laughing and vibrant again.

His own gloominess is more than enough to deal with, okay?

"I don't think that's a word people usually use to describe me." He offers a wry smile. "But I'll take it."

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