savetheearth | You Reject My Advances and Desperate Pleas [February 14]

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You Reject My Advances and Desperate Pleas [February 14]

WHO: Lazarus Lawliet and YOU
WHEN: That loviest of days, February 14, pretty much all day
WHERE: Espresso Yourself
WHAT: Someone higher up on the management ladder saw an ironic valentine and thought it would be awesome if baristas handed out hand-made ones to customers on V-Day. As the shop's resident "writer," L was given some scissors and a magazine and tasked with this. The result... well. Tag this, if you really want to see the result.
WARNINGS: L would rather be detectiving. L's grasps on irony, humor, romance, and valentines are also tenuous at best, especially together. This could get dark.

Since hiring L, Espresso Yourself had been a very accommodating employer. Equal opportunity and largely catering to college-aged hipsters, their customer base and employees consisted predominantly of Millennials, and every stereotype had softly saturated much of the shop's attitude toward the generation. L had enjoyed leaning on crutches in the past, finding ways to pardon himself from the ordeals of living life and interacting with other human beings. He had used and abused diagnoses and disadvantages for this purpose, but Espresso Yourself, as a business, seemed determined not only to accommodate his needs, but to boost his self-esteem by making him feel important and necessary.

A young woman in a higher management position had beckoned him aside the day before, offering him an "important project" to keep such a "talented writer" busy. Following his most recent echoes, L thought he knew what actually comprised an "important project," but it had been awhile since his last echo, and it was beginning to frustrate him. He'd been a child-saver, a detective, and he'd been very good at what he did, and every day another pulse didn't occur was a day he was being denied and held hostage by his own life.

Excitedly, the woman had handed him a stack of magazines, some glue, some construction paper, and a pair of blunted safety scissors, explaining the project. Her over-bright eyes and too-wide smile told L that she knew about him, and had therefore dismissed him on an unforgivable level. The condescension was newly unacceptable to a man who knew that his preincarnation had been great, and he resolved to make the project uniquely his own.

Behind the counter, he has a stack of them next to the cash register. They resemble ransom notes more than valentines, but at least his standard look of utter contempt is dialed back a bit. You might actually feel like you can approach the counter today.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"The kind of person who would like whipped cream on their coffee! That's all, OK? It's not what I expected, so just... please. I don't want to talk about this anymore."

He finished the latte, setting it on the counter top. It was cold milk and chocolate, the espresso entirely forgotten. But at this point, poor Belle was unlikely to get him to make anything better.

"Oh... you also get a valentine. It's Valentine's Day. You probably won't like this, either."

You know...? She really didn't. And wasn't sure it was appropriate to be handing them out to random clientèle, either. However, in the name of not upsetting him further, she deigned not to comment on either this or the sad cup of chocolate milk she'd been presented with.

"Thank you. How much do I owe you?"

"I... $4.11. Exact change would be best."

Mostly because he felt far too jangled to count anything back, which was embarrassing for someone who could usually calculate far more complicated things instantly.

Fortunately, she was able to provide it, and pulled out her wallet to count out four one's, a dime, and a penny for him.

"I suppose I'll see you at home later." she said, handing him the cash carefully.

His answer was a vigorous, distracted scratch of his shaggy head, drifting into the back office wordlessly.

She remained there a moment, cash still in-hand, fully expecting him to return at any moment.

When nearly five minutes had gone by with no sight of him whatsoever, she deposited her fee into the tip jar and turned to go before she was late for work.

You know, why don't you just take the rest of the day off. You look like someone died and frankly it's bothering some of the customers. Also, you keep messing up orders. Nothing personal, man, just... chill out a bit.

Though several hours remained to his shift, L wandered back to Belle's apartment early at the behest of his manager. He almost got hit by a car crossing the street against the signal, but ultimately made it back safely, unlocking the door after missing the keyhole several times.

There was what appeared to be toast on the counter, but on closer inspection, it turned out to be stuffed french toast, complete with cream cheese and powdered sugar. Shuffling over to the fridge and getting some maple syrup out, he slid to the floor in the kitchen, crouching in the corner and neatly polishing it off with his fingers.

Unfortunately for Belle, the toast HAD been hers. While she didn't enjoy whipped cream on her coffee, she DID enjoy a yearly tradition of stuffed french toast and a movie every Valentines Day in lieu of actually going out with someone else.

Fortunately for Lazarus and his depressed grazing, however, the toast had been forgotten about as she was currently in her bedroom on her laptop avidly typing to someone on Facebook that she had not heard from in quite awhile.

Russell Avis: I'm serious, though. I never thought I'd miss you telling me to stay focused all the time. When you took those summer classes and dropped out early, things got pretty unbearable.

Belle Goldman: I didn't drop out. I was taking an accelerated course plan. The entire idea was to graduate sooner, Russell.

Russell Avis: Text really isn't all that great for teasing, is it? I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to take me seriously... :P

She hesitated, smiling faintly, before tapping the keys to respond. Of all the people she expected to come looking for her, she had not expected Russell. As he'd said, she had constantly been at him to stay focused, not just for his benefit but for her own. It had seemed that every time they found themselves at the same library table, he had tried to derail study sessions with conversation or suggesting that they blow it off entirely to go find something to eat.

Belle, all in all, had been proud of herself for sticking to her guns and for getting him, more or less, to apply himself as well.

Belle Goldman: If I'd known to expect teasing, it might have translated better.

Russell Avis: lol! How are things aside from schooling for you? Anything interesting lately?

Another hesitation as she remembered the paranoid FAQ's ramblings about being careful who she trusted and wary of people trying to pry into her business.

....

....no, this was Russell. The man who she had come to know as being as subtle as a stampede. He probably had excelled at becoming a child psychologist, assuming he'd continued that route.

Belle Goldman: I was mugged and my car was stolen. Is that interesting to you?

Russell Avis: ......
Russell Avis: Want me to give you a call?

A few moments later and he'd been given her number, and now she watched her cel phone where it sat on the computer desk as if it might bite her...

Edited 2014-02-21 00:15 (UTC)

The french toast was excellent, hitting the spot for a man who hadn't eaten anything else all day.

Once he was done, he decided to go straight to bed... but on the way, he noticed that the door to Belle's room was open, and she was on the computer. Facebook, to be specific.

Moving quietly, he crept up behind her, bare feet likely to remain unheard on the soft carpet.

She was so fixated on the phone and wondering if he actually planned to call her that she hadn't thought to check if Lazarus had come home from work yet, much less to close her door.

He would find the recently-abandoned chat window still open, and the browser open to Russell's facebook page. His profile icon showed a small, grumpy-looking Cthulhu eating spaghetti, but she had stopped scrolling on a recent photo of a lean, athletic man in glasses, smiling for the camera while poised on a rocky ledge of a mountain.

Her fixation on the phone was one that he could hardly ignore. As his eyes glanced over the man's profile and photograph, he remained silent, waiting for whatever she seemed to be expecting.

Which, judging from his last words, were a phone call.

The first few chords of something by Porcupine Tree began to filter out of her phone, and she reached for it slowly, as if not entirely believing he had followed through on his intentions.

"...hello?" she asked after putting it to her ear.

"Who in their right mind would try and mug you?" a familiar voice filtered through the other end of the connection. "You used to walk in in the mornings looking like you knew fifty ways to kill a man."

"Hello, Russell." she said, choosing that moment to turn in her chair and find herself nearly nose-to-nose with Lazarus. Her expression immediately shifted from one of amusement to one of complete surprise.

That shift in expression was one that L read unfavorably.

She was smiling when she was talking to him... and now that she sees me, she's not.

"Who posts pictures of themselves rock climbing? That's probably the douchiest thing I can think of," L commented, not bothering to keep his voice too low for Russ to hear it.

"You--" she began, reflexively responding to L before quickly remembering she was on the phone. "...Russell, I'm sorry, can you hold on just a minute?"

Without waiting for an answer, she covered the phone's receiver with her palm

"Did you need something, L?" she asked, her voice low.

"Yes..."

Silence, punctuated by blinking of large, dark eyes that haven't quite worked out what it is they actually want.

"That toast... it was really good. Could you teach me how to make it?"

Again, he was fortunate. If she'd not been preoccupied, another reminder about boundaries would have been in his immediate future. That, even if the door WAS open, he was not to come in without knocking, and that he was NOT to eat things he had not prepared himself unless invited to.

As it was. she set her jaw. "Neither of us have work tomorrow, I'd be glad to show you then. For now, I'm on the phone."

Hoping to close the subject, she removed her hand from the receiver to return to the discussion.

"I apologize for that."

"Not a problem. You have company over? I could call back..."

"Not company. My roommate. He had a question about something."

"He." Russell repeated with playful accusation. "Is it serious?"

"No. It's...complicated, actually. I'd prefer not to get into it."

"What? It's not serious?" L asked, lowering his voice somewhat but likely not enough, again, to be completely inaudible to the man on the line. "I thought we were in this for the long haul... you're giving me reasons to live again, remember?"

The hand went over the receiver once again.

"We are not in a session right now, L." she told him firmly. "This is a personal phone call on my personal time. If you can respect that, I'll talk to you when it's over."

"Belle...? Are you sure it's a good time for a call?"

"I--" she adjusted her hand. "...could I possibly call you back in just a bit?"

"Sure. I'll be up late tonight so...you know, whenever."

"Thank you, Russell."

"Yep. Later. I'll hold you to it."

That being said, she set the phone back on the desktop where it had been before.

"That wasn't your toast." she said quietly.

"It was cold... I thought you hadn't wanted it. Who is Russell? Where did you meet him? How tall is he? His picture looks like he'll carry a lot of weight in his midsection in ten short years. His hairline is showing signs of recession already. How old is he?"

"I went to school with him, and he decided to look me up today, that's all." she replied, ignoring the rest of the interrogation. As far as she was concerned, there was nothing more to say on the matter, both because it didn't concern him and because....really, there was nothing more to say.

"On Valentine's Day, of all possible times to do this? Why do you think that's the case? You should be careful, at any rate. There are some very depraved people in the world and often, you can't know who's a psychopath. Not until your feet are cut off so you can't run away and your teeth have been screwed into a mask made of another woman's skin, at least..."

"Lazarus." Her voice was an interesting cocktail of "completely appalled" and "quickly reaching her limit" with just a dash of incredulity.

Her eyes dodged away from the judging benchpress of his stare to collect herself before she looked back at him. "Those are incredibly unreasonable judgments to make about someone you know nothing about, don't you think?"

Edited 2014-02-21 07:06 (UTC)

"If you told me anything, I wouldn't have to make such judgments. His reasons for getting back in touch with you today indicate that his motives are less than pure, and if you're telling him that you aren't serious about me, then... really how am I supposed to take that? Especially after earlier...?"

The irritation was wiped out of her expression as confusion set in.

"After earlier...?"

"You're my therapist, it stands to reason that I have to trust you, and you've been very uncomfortable today. It's like you haven't been considering my feelings at all..."

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Later at Home

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