[Closed] Then for all past efforts - they're buried somewhere in your stomach.

[scramasax]

Who: Anthony Janvier, Lazarus Lawliet, Anthony Sparado
Where: Espresso Yourself
When: Sometime during the day of Friday, October 17th.
What: The poor harrowed coffee shop receives a drop-in by a few decided non-patrons.
Warnings: Probable language; violence up to and including murder. Heads-up!



There's no calm, even when, environmentally, there is. There's always hope, obviously - another call for all of them to do something, take the Network back, gather and spread any information they've got, was just made, by someone who does. It had happened before, it had been talked down or fallen through the cracks, but she - Ms. Kaiser, that is - wouldn't permit that, would she...?

The visit by the radio crew meanwhile leaves work feeling as if everyone's resigned to being on trial, Anthony included. And least of the worries that's come on in since the ninth - the night of the murders - is that he's bad for business. He hasn't been any better for it, certainly, with panic burning out with sounds danger, visions of things he can't be seeing, seeing himself taking the sword he of course hasn't brought to work and slashing away at nebulous human-shaped threats attempting to claw to the back over the counter, all of that recognized when it comes and necessitating a step back.

There're always remarks, attempts at instigation, but he's encouraged to hang back. Police have spoken to him, but they've not carted him off - perhaps his twice-over statement that he doesn't eat, period, has worked (another point for transparency, perhaps), or perhaps someone on that end knows something which he doesn't, which could be a thing to fuss or not. Uncertainty - how much it's going to take, who helps who, who hurts who - won't stop presence any time soon. And any change at all is therefore cause for immediate alertness.

It downward-slams and freezes him to the spot when a set of steps marches hard - a trio or more, maybe - and gathers at the door. He turns his face right on to it with his sockets wide.

And acts on his immediate instinct to shuffle over to the back to notify L, "peering" and muttering "Excuse me, sir?"s.

Comments

[dead_black_eyes]

It's a dubious distinction, one that L would be happier without, but he has gotten very good at discerning when there's trouble brewing. He glances up when he hears Anthony's cracking, insubstantial voice, concern etching his pale features.

"Yes, Anthony? What's wrong?"

Weeks ago, many weeks, the question might have been is something wrong? Now, it's a given that something's wrong, given the degradation and outright harassment they've experienced since that broadcast aired. Even though Anthony is objectively bad for business, L has never said as much, or even implied it, maintaining firmly that he hired Anthony and has no intention of dismissing him for matters beyond his control. Anthony is the epitome of what Espresso Yourself vowed to help in its mission statement, as well as a project L is personally invested in seeing flourish. Anthony, after all, reminds L of the person he once was to an uncomfortable degree, so it makes a strange kind of sense that saving Anthony means saving Lazarus, too.

If they have a problem with you working here, they're the people I want out of my store. Not you.

Before Anthony can provide an answer, though, the sound of raised voices reaches them, bringing L instantly to his feet. They're unintelligible from the back room, but unmistakeably angry.

"Anthony," L says softly, "stay back here, please. I'll handle this."

Hopefully it will be as easy as telling the troublemakers to leave; L has had to do this a few times, recently. He's had people larger than him scream in his face, but if anything can be said about the detective these days, it's that confrontation barely perturbs him anymore.