sweethymns | Pictures in the Dark

[The night wanes. Sunday morning comes.

Oren stands perfectly still behind the counter of the Midnight Grind. The cafe is spic and span except for the sofa that has some comfortable pillows and an equally comforting quilt covering up a sleepy new employee.]

...

...

...

[ANY DAY NOW PAL, not that Oren would speak up to say anything really. He's got the patience of a literal rock, he'll wait.]

[It isn't much longer until Michael stirs, groaning a little. He opens his eyes, drearily, to look up to a ceiling that definitely isn't his apartment's.]

What...?

[Michael sits up, confused, looking around like he's not where he's supposed to be. Because he's not. The blankets slide off of him as he gazes around and spots Oren behind the counter.

The Midnight Grind?]

Oren...? [He asks, uselessly. He frowns (his head only aching a little, impressively), and rubs at his eyes.] What happened? [It's a little hazy, he remembers getting a tad tipsy while at the bar with Iona, and he had gotten sleepy...

And somehow ended up here...?]

Lightweight. Iona carried you in.

[Oren moves to turn on an electric kettle to get some coffee started.]

Will make breakfast.

[Carried in?] Again? [As in, he had to be carried by Iona to the Grind's couch a second time? It was becoming a habit he wasn't growing proud of.

He focuses, still rubbing at his eyes, trying to remember more clearly the details of last night. He remembers leaning on Iona as they made their way back, the concrete below them feeling far more unsteady than it should. They spoke about... what? Courage and...

Oh.] Ah, crap. [He mutters it to himself, recalling a few things he said that he would consider a bit embarrassing now. Maybe, he hopes, Iona will think nothing of it today.

He looks over at Oren, whose back is already turned as he makes coffee and breakfast.]

Need help? [He feels bad for being a couch bum for yet another night.]

No.

You need coffee.

Or coconut water.

Or both.

And eggs.

[Well, it's not a full on awful hangover, but it seems like Oren's covering all the bases regardless. How thoughtful!]

[It's not an awful headache, no, but it's certainly a nagging one. He doesn't want to be a bother, though, so he still feels guilty about Oren taking time to prepare him hangover remedies.

(Eggs do sound good, however.)

Watching the golem, he realizes something:]

Oren, do you stay here at the Grind overnight...?

Usually not.

[The hot water is ready and he pours it over some freshly made coffee grounds and the smell fills the air.]

Sit in living room.

I don't sleep.

[Inhaling the smell of coffee, Michael leans back on the sofa, trying to relax again. The blanket remains strewn across his lap for now.]

So you just... sit the whole night?

[He has a mental image of Oren sitting in the dark, alone, and staring blankly at a wall for the whole night. He wonders how accurate it is.]

[90% accurate!!!! Oren jut slowly nods.]

Catch up with current trends by reading. May watch movie.

Usually no need.

[Huh, so he was mostly right......]

You don't get bored at all?

... Body is not human. Little restlessness.

[Humans are weird twitchy beings. Heck, look at Iona, she's a witch, but for all intents and purposes, magickind are humanoids who function mostly the same.]

So not an affliction.

Huh.

[It would explain Oren's seemingly endless amounts of patience.]

Must be nice.

[Oren's patience is oddly specific. Waiting for the next day during the dark hours? No problem. Most people he can deal with with blunt grace. It's very rare for Oren to meet someone he clearly clashes with. He's fine with Michael and that's what matters.]

Sunny side up or scrambled. Or omelet?

[Oh, yeah, eggs.]

[Michael would definitely be appreciative to know that he falls into the category of people that Oren can deal with. He's not sure he would want to see what Oren would be like when he's impatient with someone.]

Oh, uh-- scrambled should be fine.

[He rubs at the back of his neck. A beat or two passes.]

I guess I should tell Iona that if she ever needs to drop my unconscious body off somewhere, she should just toss me back at my apartment. I'm sure I could wake up enough to at least unlock the door and stumble in. [He gives himself that much credit, at least!]

Doesn't want you alone.

[Oh, Iona...

Michael fidgets with the corner of the quilt.]

I live alone; sleeping off too much to drink in my own bed isn't really something she needs to worry about.

Worries anyway.

She's like that.

Yeah, I know. [It's breathed to himself, with an odd mix of both exasperation and fondness. The next is louder, and meant for Oren:]

She has her own share of worries, and though I appreciate it, I don't want to add to them. But I guess I should tell her that myself.

...

[Oren doesn't reply at first since he's thinking of Iona and the state of her rather new friendship with Michael. It's still at a relatively early stage and already the witch shows her weakness of attachment, one she is strangely not ashamed of. But it's not his job to referee that. She and Michael can grow on their own into this.

Humans were adaptable like that.]

Good idea. She goes overboard.

Maybe, but I think that's why everyone likes her so much.

Confuses some people too.

Confuses you?

Sometimes.

[He exhales, an almost sigh, then begins to fold the quilt he had been given. When he finishes, he sets it next to him on the sofa, and runs a hand over it to straighten out any stray creases.]

I suppose less "confused" and more wondering at how she does it. I'd be stretched too thin, in her place.

Sense of purpose. Feels like she's supposed to.

Wants a lot. Can't have everything.

[He's silent for a moment.]

I guess it's a more charitable goal than most people in the world have. It could be worse.

[Michael, always trying to parse out the good in something, especially if that something is a friend.]

Could be.

In the end, only human.

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dilatory - 2016-05-30 07:08 (UTC) - Expand