Coffee Break (Jeanette)

[blueeyeddevil]

OOC: For Marley and Jeanette!

Wes Harlow

It was a rather warm day for early April. Wes had the morning off and he'd decided to spend it at the cafe getting his caffeine fix (terrible pun for a real addict) and working on new songs. He was glancing at the pages in his hand now as he waited at the outdoor service window for his ice coffee. He took a drag of the cigarette in his mouth as he studied the notebook he'd been writing in thoughtfully. He was trying to find the right way to end this next line and still have it match with the ones above.

They finally handed him the iced coffee which he took gratefully. He was still trying to figure out the song, his face buried in the notebook as he started to walk towards a bench where he could sit. He definitely was not paying attention to where he was going. He really should have because the next thing he knew he was colliding with a warm body, causing the notebook to go flying and his coffee to go sloshing as he stumbled back a bit.

He finally looked to see a pretty brunette girl just a little younger than him who was now wearing his coffee. His green eyes widened in shock as it all registered with him finally. He ran and hand through his blond hair nervously before speaking in a hurried voice as the words came tumbling out.

"I am so sorry!" he told her. "I wasn't looking where I was going. Stupid of me, I know. Don't worry, it's iced. It'll come right out. Again, I am really, really sorry!" He quickly reached over to a nearby empty table and grabbed some napkins, handling them to her. "I swear, I'm not really this big of a klutz. Are you all right?"

[Marley]

Jeannette hummed to herself as she walked down the sidewalk. The day was warm, and for once she could almost ignore the cars whizzing down the street. Almost. Pushing her hair from her eyes, she paused at the corner, looking both ways before she stepped out. She'd figured that rule out a few days after arriving in the city--when she'd nearly been run over, and the driver who'd almost hit her rolled down his window and let out such a stream of obscenities her ears burned for hours afterword. Today, there were no menacing drivers or nasty cars. At least not right now. She dashed across the street, sighing in relief when she reached the other side. Just because she was looking didn't mean that the cars--drivers--were.

As she strolled along, her mind wandered. She'd seen so many new things since coming to Paris. Cars. More books than she could count--and people, besides. The strange lights that--maybe--weren't magic after all, though she wasn't sure about that. And she had met many wonderful--and not so wonderful--people. Pausing under a tree, she tipped her head back, studying the branches. A smile flitted across her face. The tree had small flowers on it. Little pink buds that swayed in the wind. Spring was truly here. She winced as a sharp stab of homesickness struck her. The spring lambs would be born any time now. Did her parents miss her help? Did they miss her? Did they wonder what had happened to her? Where she'd gone? Jeannette shook her head. There was no way to know for sure, so why dwell on it? For all she knew, they thought her dead in some ditch--though she certainly hoped not. Perhaps...she grinned at the idea that flitted through her brain. Father Maurice could write to them! Well, to Father John anyway. She wouldn't have to tell them where she was, or why, only that she was safe and they shouldn't worry. Jeannette whirled away from the tree, eager to find the priest and tell him of her plan.

All at once, she felt herself collide with someone. Cold liquid splashed across the front of her dress and she yelped, jumping backwards. As the young man she'd bumped into stammered out apologies, Jeannette simply stared, her mouth slightly open, trying to figure out what on earth she'd done to make him toss his drink at her. She wrinkled her nose as she took the cloths he offered. Whatever he'd spilled, it smelled dreadful. Sharp and bitter, like the mixtures maman always gave her when she was sick as a child. Jeannette glanced up at him as she mopped the cold whatever it was off of her dress. Why would anyone drink something that smelled this bad? Finally, she got the last of it off. Smiling up at the stranger, she said, "Oh, that's alright. I'm well enough. It's all off, see?" She paused, caution wrestling with curiosity. Curiosity won. "What is it anyway? It smells awful. Like medicine."

[blueeyeddevil]

Wes Harlow

Obviously his plan for coffee and song writing was long since down the drain now. His coffee was spilled and the notebook had sent pages flying into the wind. He felt bad about it, but felt even worse as he realized he had taken out an innocent bystander with his coffee. The poor girl was drenched and he couldn't believe his terrible clumsiness. He tried to rectify the situation, apologizing profusely as he handed her a large bunch of napkins, asking if she was all right as she cleaned up a bit.

"Oh, that's alright. I'm well enough. It's all off, see?" she assured him. There were a few very light brown stains where the coffee had been but at least it was off.

He gave a warm smile and nodded. "Good. Thanks for being nice about it," he said. "And if I happen to be wrong and it doesn't come out, I promise I'll pay to have the clothes cleaned!"

Her face pulled into a look of distaste as she examined the beverage stained clothes. "What is it anyway? It smells awful. Like medicine."

He blinked, confused for a moment. She didn't know what coffee smelled like? He glanced at the remaining bit of drink in his hand and then back to her, resting the cigarette between his fingers.

"It's just iced coffee," he told her with a shrug. "Though I suppose coffee qualifies as a sort of medicine if you stretch the definition a bit." He laughed a gave her a teasing little wink.

He stuck the cigarette back in his mouth as he reached down to gather the notebook and collect as many of the pages as he could while he still looked up at her.

"Trust me, coffee tastes a lot better than it smells," he assured her. "Must not be a lot of coffee shops where you grew up, huh? Small town?"

[Marley]

Jeannette swallowed a giggle at his offer, should her clothes be stained. Little did he know that he would be paying her to do her own washing. "Thank you. I'm sure they're alright." She fidgeted at his next question. How could she possibly answer? If she told the truth, she and everyone else she knew would get into terrible trouble. Yet if she lied--which was a sin--she would have to confess it, and then she'd have to explain everything to the priest, to explain why she'd lied. Of course, if she told him in Confession, he couldn't speak of it--and if it was Father Maurice, he probably wouldn't say anything anyway--but the thought made her squirm regardless. At last she said, "Yes, you could say that. There were two hundred, maybe three hundred of us?" Numbers weren't Jeannette's strong suit. She could keep track of her father's sheep and cattle, and the chickens her neighbors owned, and that was about it.

"No. I've...I've never seen a coffee house till I came here. We don't have such things." There. Surely that was answer enough. It was the truth, and she hadn't given anyone away. What would happen if she were to tell someone? Father Jean always said that they would be taken away. Locked up somewhere. Parents taken from children. Husbands and wives separated. They would never see each other again. That was why they had to be so careful--especially the men who went into towns. No one could know they existed. Or else. Jeannette bit her lip. How much longer could she keep them a secret? There was so much about life outside that she didn't understand. The lights. Reading. Writing. The horrible cars. Now this strange coffee. How long could she go on before someone found out?

To distract herself, she bent down and snatched up a few of the loose papers that had blown from the young man's hand when he ran into her. Barely glancing at them, she held them out. "Here you are. What are these?"

[blueeyeddevil]

Wes Harlow

He'd never really met anyone that didn't know what coffee was before. Coffee was just one of those things that even little kids knew just by the smell. He figured this girl's parents must have been the hippie 'no sugar or caffeine' type. She probably didn't even know what what soda tasted like...poor thing. He asked her about it, guessing that she had grown up in a small town where they didn't have many coffee shops.

"Yes, you could say that. There were two hundred, maybe three hundred of us?" she explained.

He looked at her, a little surprised. "Wow! That is a small place," he agreed. He gave a shrug. "That can be nice sometimes, though. I'll bet it was a pretty close-knit community. I've traveled lots of places and small towns almost always have the nicest people."

"No. I've...I've never seen a coffee house till I came here. We don't have such things." she admitted. Wes nodded in agreement. He wasn't the least be surprised. In a community that small there probably not enough people to keep a coffee shop in business. It would be difficult to justify having one.

He began to pick up the pages of his note that had fallen out in the scuffle. The girl was nice enough to help, picking up the ones that had blown over around her feet and and handing them out to him. "Here you are." she said.

"Thank you," he said gratefully. "Wouldn't be very good if I lost these."

"What are these?"" she asked.

"Nothing yet, really," he said with a small laugh. "I've just been doing some song writing. Maybe someday people can actually hear one of them." He smiled as he looked at her again. "Do you sing or play instruments at all?"

[Marley]

Jeannette grinned up at the young man. "Oh, yes," she said, "It was very nice. Everyone there was wonderful." Well, most of the time they were, anyway, and the times they weren't weren't any of his concern. Besides, if she said too much else, she'd give something away. And the young man seemed nice enough, but one could never tell. For now, she was being extra careful. He didn't seem too alarmed when she admitted that she'd never seen a coffee house before. Good. Perhaps she didn't appear as strange to everyone else as she feared. Were there other people who'd never heard of coffee? That would be a pleasant surprise!

"Oh?" When he explained what the papers were, another happy smile flitted across her face. Music was one of her favorite things. Next to hearing her Voices speaking to her, she loved nothing better than sitting in Mass and listening to the music around her. "Non, I don't play anything. I love to sing, though. At Mass especially." Once, she'd considered playing the organ during Mass, but the thought of all those people staring at her...Her fingers got tangled up just from thinking about it. Sometimes, she and the other girls would sing while they worked. Mostly hymns, but every now and then some old tune would creep in that someone's grandmother had taught, after learning it from her own grandmother, and so on. The hymns were her favorite, of course--that was only right--but the other songs were so very pretty. Sometimes, wicked as she knew it was, she almost liked them better. "What sort of music do you write? Can I hear one of your songs?"

[blueeyeddevil]

Wes Harlow

Wes felt a smile tug at his lips when he saw the way her face lit up at the mention of music. He felt the exact same way. Music was a way of life for him. Ever since the day his brother had taught him play guitar, all he'd ever wanted to do was play music for a living. He'd gotten his wish with Radio Remedy, at least for a short time, and while it hadn't been what he'd been looking for, he knew the best days were still ahead of him. He wondered if this girl had dreams of playing music someday too and he asked if she played an instrument.

"Non, I don't play anything. I love to sing, though. At Mass especially." she told him.

So she was a church girl, huh? He smiled again in a knowing way. "That's great," he said. "God gives people all kinds of talents. Maybe singing is one of yours." He didn't necessarily abide by the ideals of a church, but he believed in a higher power and he believed that power gifted people in different ways.

"What sort of music do you write? Can I hear one of your songs?" she asked.

He chuckled a little nervously. He'd played for thousands of screaming fans before but it was a little more intimidating when you played one on one. He'd do it though, if she wanted.

"Well, its not anything you'd hear at Mass," he warned her with a grin. "I mainly play rock. I'll play a song for you. I wrote this a couple of years ago."

He motioned her over to the bench where he'd been playing earlier. He pulled put his guitar, placing the notebook and papers inside the case. He began to play an old Radio Remedy song, one that he'd managed to write and get the managers to agree to let them play.

When he was done he looked back at the girl. "It's been a little while since I played that song...hope it sounded okay," he said.