loligiary | Tea with the Queen

Tea with the Queen

Superheroing was great for the soul but didn't pay the bills. Genevieve subsidized her hobby and her rent payments through working the late shift at a coffee shop. Her coworkers were a relatively ordinary mix--some went out of their way to be kind and chatty, some had a chip on their shoulder, most regarded her with an apathy that was often a relief when she needed to be alone with her thoughts and the blender. The need to focus on each coffee-related task and complete it with practiced motions was soothing and kept her from wobbling in indecision. Some days were easier than others. Some days stress threatened to eat her alive.

The Queen helped with that, but you couldn't bring the Queen to work with you...and of course there was the problem of Jervis.

Genevieve heard the voice of a coffee order as she wiped down the spout of the latte machine. She turned and saw no one, and went back to work. Late night, must be hearing things. She was short, for any gender, and occasionally had to get up on a step stool to reach the spare beans and milk stored in the hidden cabinets behind the menu boards. Seeing particularly small people over the height of the counter was even more troublesome.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Mary had her own struggle: trying to put her laptop away. The laptop bag was much too big for her any way, so it was just awkward to carry it around.

"Me too." Mary said, trying to think of something to say. Would it be way too weird to be overly friendly to someone you just met? She missed having company. An audience. Even just one person paying attention to her in a special was sort of nice. "Did you maybe want to...I don't know...talk, or something?" have a sleepover almost popped out of her mouth. She had never had one as a teenager and, heck, it was a way to get acquainted right?

((brought to you by: http://captioned-vines.tumblr.com/post/127137015719/waitwhatdidtheysay-captions-drive-thru-cashier))

"I mean, if you don't mind." Genevieve rocked back and forth slightly, her coat held in her arms. "Did you, uh, want to go somewhere?" Park? Shop? ~~House?~~

Mary had not been expecting a yes, but she was pleasantly surprised. She partically beamed and hopped off her stool.

"Well, all right then!" Where to go was an issue, wasn't it? "I suppose it's not too late to head for the park, if you're up for it." She probably wanted a rest after a long day at work. "Or we could sit somewhere. It's probably been a long day, on your feet and all..."

At least it was still light outside, though heading towards sunset. Genevieve's last coffee shop had her working until 1am, a good schedule for when your extracurriculars also needed you sleeping during the day but not great for much else. "I wouldn't mind a little walk. And there's benches near the fountain."

Oh gosh oh gosh this was happening.

"Great." She picked up her overlarge bag and started walking.

"I'm Mary, by the way." She was unused to introducing herself. Most people didn't call her Mary when they did recognize her.

"I'm Genevieve." She doesn't mention she'd seen Mary's resume. That might be construed as creepy and she could not mess this up. Waylon was a good friend and the Rogues were nice, yes, but aside from her side hobby she didn't have anyone to talk to. And Mary seemed quite nice. (And pretty. She was awfully pretty.)

Gen leads her out into the Gotham street. It's just past rush hour and people are slouching by, listening to their phones or talking with each other.

"Nice name. I like it." Mary always did like those fancy names. "Better than just plan Mary at least." Technically she was Marion, but that wasn't much better.

She sipped her coffee. "So how long have you worked at the coffee place?" That was an ice breaker, right?

"Here, about eight months. Two years at Starbucks--it's a little friendlier here." Her current place was an independent shop, the kind that permitted tattoos and lavender mohawks. A more comfortable place to be out.

"Yeah, I like these smaller places. Just feels less...corporate." It reminded her of all those coffee houses in movies.

"Was coffee as a career your first choice?" Wait, was that rude? "If you don't mind me asking. I know my first choice was not what I am now doing." Which is what? Sitting in coffee shops and picking up girls? Apparently.

"Oh! No, not my first choice. What about you, what did you do?" Time to divert the conversation away from horrible life-ruining choices.

Mary could tell someone was diverting, but that's ok, she did the same thing. Only now, she had to answer that one. "Well...I was an actress." Was this girl for real? She didn't know she used to be on tv? "Had my own show and all...You don't recognize me?" That was a little disheartening.

Eep. This wasn't the first time pop culture fail had damaged her social standing. Her workmates were always enthused over new developments on Netflix or the newest reality television show and she was quite left out in the cold by it. Genevieve's steps became smaller and slower. "I'm sorry, I don't watch television very much. Mostly I read. What was it called?"

Mary thought her fame was everlasting, but this was yet another indication that it was not. That not every one cared who she was. It made her feel very small.

"It was a sitcom. It's not important. Most people hassle me for it..." And she didn't understand why it made her feel so down that this one person didn't know about it. "I tried to be a stage actress after I left it...but that didn't work out." And now she was going to have to do something that she never in her life thought she'd be lowered to doing.

"Why would they hassle you for it?" asks Genevieve, looking concerned. She'll have to google Mary Dahl later, find out what she'd been doing. Then she could be more educated. (And a creeper.)

Mary shrugged. "Some people believe you should act like the character you played on tv, all the time. For their amusement. I guess they think they can." No one ever asked her costars to do their shtick out in the street. Probably cause no one cared about those slobs, Mary thought ruefully.

"Anyway, it's not important...suffice to say acting is hard when you're...me."

"What kind of acting do you usually do?" Mayday mayday we are in dangerous territory with no idea how to pull the conversation back to safer ground.

"Well...I like Shakespeare a lot...but I failed horribly at it." Mary tried to take the tenseness out of her voice. "You just can't get a fair shake in this town if you're small..." Gen probably knew all about that.

"Of course, this town and I have some issues as it is. It's why I moved away originally. But, I guess you can't escape."

"What made you come back?" Genevieve asked, voice growing quieter as each question threatened to make her new conversation partner more upset?

Mary hesitated a moment, chewing her bottom lip. "Well...I guess." She paused. "I guess I just couldn't stay away!" She smiled brightly, her eyes slightly glassy. "Have you lived in Gotham long?"

A smile, good, we are doing good at social interaction yes good. "For some decades now, though I'm actually originally from Cambridge in England." She'd been an ex-pat most of her life and had only the vestiges of a British accent left to her. "It's quite an intense city, I know."

Yes, interaction is working. At least they were still talking and Mary hadn't burst into tears. It was a miracle. "Wow. Still got the cute accent though." A quick glance and then Mary continued. "I've always wanted to go. Never been out of the US though." She sighed.

"Yeah. It is. In more ways than one."

She'd really wanted to go, back when it had all gone wrong. Run back to the place brightly lit by childhood nostalgia, where no one knew her name or her face. But she'd been too depressed to move, and by the time she'd fought her way out of the pit she'd found things in Gotham to be attached to again.

"It's a nice city, I think." As they approach the cluster of trees huddled at the edge of the park Genevieve begins to talk about her hometown. The ivy-covered university buildings where her father worked, the river Cam winding under bridges and strewn with tourists trying desperately not to fall out of their punts, the cobblestones of the streets and sidewalks.

"Gotham or Cambridge?" As Gen described her home town it was hard to believe that any one would want to leave that for this place.

"I've lived in Gotham all my life and I could never describe it the way you painted that picture. You must be a writer, right?" Those coffee shop folk always did something artsy, right?

Now Genevieve gives her an honest, proper smile. "No, no, I'm hardly a writer. I just do a lot of reading." Though little of it is Serious Literature. She enjoys light things, childish things--things with happy endings where no one is sad for long or hurt in any meaningful way, which seem to never be the topics that are considered cultured literature for cultured folk.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject