[IC] Tea-time with the character above you ☕

"Please, do have a seat." He called out, plugging in the kettle and checking that he had enough water left for tea. "And remember to mind your head!" He hastily added, remembering the narrowboat's low ceiling. Max the greyhound stretched and hurried back to his human, his tail wagging frantically. 

"Out of the way you silly old thing!" He affectionately told the dog, giving him a pat on the back. Tom flicked the kettle's switch to green, before sighing and beginning the tedious task of sorting through the various tea bags and leaves. "If i've run out of Lemongrass again... highly unlikely as they've all insisted on getting me tea for Christmas," He grudgingly noted. "Then you'll have to make do with Chamoline."  

His hands hovered over each jar's label, before reaching one labled "Lemongrass". He grabbed a teabag before making a beeline to a pot of loose leaves. The label on that read "Earl Grey".  He grabbed a two mugs, one with bear ears ("My youngest's" He said) and poured half the hot water into each. Tom then put the teabag in the bear mug, before putting the tea leaves in a strainer and adding that to his cup. He added some sugar to his guest's cup, before settling down opposite her with a greyhound at his feet. 

"So," He began, sliding the mug across the table. "What brings you to the canal? I know it's rude to point out, but you're not really dressed for a swim." The man gestured to Illanya's cape, which was now hanging up to dry on a washingline outside the Greyhound. "Not that I didn't make that mistake a few years ago of course, although that's really not the best thing to wear in the british summertime."

He took a sip of his tea, apparently lost in thought. "Are you from around here? 

@NP: Tom is very particular about how his tea is made. And he's technically English. Good luck.

What a horrible thought, sitting the Frenchman next to the Englishman... If Odette even counted as being French. Yenereth was a hellhole, and also not on Earth, so it's just whatever, and also unimportant.

Her hands in her lap and cradling a cup, Odette huddled against her chair, her legs covered by a fleece blanket. Inside the mug was simple, blended black tea, piping hot, but something Odette didn't take much interest in. The reason why was simple. Caffeine was hard on her heart, but she could handle a little bit of it, so that was just one thing. The other? It didn't have enough sugar. She could smell it didn't have enough sugar, and so was more than just conservative. Maybe her retainer would like it better.

"My uncle was against you coming here," said Odette, "He mentioned that you sound too much like one of them, that the new woman was bad enough. I don't hear it. Your voice, it isn't as rough." In other words, she absolutely did not heed her uncle's advice. Always listen to the old man in your life. "He mentioned your boat, though. What a fascinating thing. I've only been on a boat once in my life, with a friend of mine in the south... You wouldn't mind my prodding, would you? How did you ever come to acquire it? It's just that -- here at least -- boats are a rarity."

Hell, it was near impossible to get a boat. Traversing rivers was a pain in the ass, and the seas were off-limits. She was just lucky enough to personally know someone who had the permissions to keep a small ferry as well as to touch the ocean. Speaking of, she pondered for a moment what said friend was up to. Being a thot, maybe.

Odette sipped on her tea, only to scrunch up her nose at the taste. She set the cup aside on the low table between herself and Tom.

"I'm not very fond of this kind of tea." she confessed, "Maybe I should have asked for peach tea instead, but I didn't think about it. That, or more sugar or honey. The misses wouldn't care to add more to yours, too, if you would prefer it that way."

”It’s been a while since I’ve sat down to drink tea with anyone…” 23 said solemnly, all while sprinkling some grains of salt into his cup. He didn’t think the action was weird. And he didn’t care if Odette thought it was or not too. Salty food just tasted better. And what he had said was the truth, he hadn’t had a cup of tea in ages, or anyone to share a thoughtful drink with as well. It was something new but nostalgic. He didn’t remember how one was supposed to drink tea, nor did he care. Why should there be only one specific wake to eat or drink something? Everyone has different tastes after all.

He took a spoon and stirred the contents of his mug lightly, it was herbal tea, and nothing was special about it. He didn’t care to be picky while choosing the type. 23 just decided to choose something similar to what Odette was having. It’d be easier and faster that way. He removed the spoon and sipped from the contents of the mug with an unwavering expression: almost dead in its air. He usually had little to no reactions.

“So where are you from?” He asked, it was monochrome and a question without real care for the answer. His mind was thinking of other things outside this cafe. “You’re dressed quite lavishly for a place like this? Don’t you think? It’s almost out of era.” He paused, “Though I sometimes wish I was in another time too, anytime but the present.” 

Time was a funny thing, 23 thought about it a lot. One day you‘re doing something, another you’re not, and both will ultimately be forgotten in a number of years. It was something guaranteed, you couldn’t stop the passing of time, or go back and change events from before. No matter how much you wanted to do so.

His mind was drifting again, from their conversation, it seemed to be fairly one sided anyways. But what could you even do about that? Not much. “Maybe you are from another age… that would be interesting. If you are, you should take me back with you, and I can finally get out of this dump of a world.” It was pessimistic, but another truth, and 23 didn’t lie when he felt he didn’t need to.

r0tt don't forget your claim!  ^its fine dw! Life happens! Just keep the rule 'post in 22h' in mind next time 🙏

Edit: Hey it's been 32+h since your claim, the rules state your claim has to be filled in 22 hours,  and It's still not filled out! I'm sorry, but your post is going to be skipped. Please know that this isn't out of ill intend or that I harbour any bad feelings towards you, I do understand that life is busy and things like TH can slip your mind 🙏! 

I claim Pierrot! 

--

Hemlock gently rubbed a small herbal paste on Pierrot's knuckles. His tea had gone cold, but the snake-oil merchant did not care. "You've seen many wounds," he remarked. Before removing his fingers from Pierrot's bruised knuckles. "Old wounds and damaged tissue tell a lot about a person," he said. While lifting up his cowboy hat slightly.
"So," Hemlock whipped the paste from his fingers (onto the edges of his coat) and smiled. "Tell me," he picked up his lukewarm tea again. "Who hurt ya this time?" Hemlock took a sip. The kudu's lip slightly curled and the man shook his head in disgust. "Gods. I hate rooibos," he cursed under his breath. "It's so mellow, 'nd sweet."
Hemlock sat back down in front of Perriot and placed his foot against the edges of the saloon table. It made a rinkling sound.

"I don't think I've seen your merry band around here," he said. Then snickered. "Though, I'm no local myself by any means. I travel too. Have my own cart 'n stuff," he said. Hemlock rolled his cup between his hands. "But you, you seem to be lost, partner. You hardly drank your tea," he observed. "You're tense. Are you fleeing?" The kudu's eyebrows shot high for a moment, before he let out another laugh. "I'm just teasing you," he said. He even made a dismissive gesture with his hand.
"You seem like a guy that has everything under control,"HHemlock said. And even though his tone sounded light and inviting, there was a note of disingenuous lingering in there.
"I've got some more paste in my cart," Hemlock said. He gestured at the other's knuckles. "I'm leaving the town tonight but… You can visit me before that." Hemlock downed his rooibos tea in one full swing. "And we can talk and sip tea in private… Away from any prying eyes."

--

Och that was so cute!? I wrote a small follow up!

     Terry grimaced at his cup of tea. It was water. Warm, green water. It smelled... It barely had a smell. He knew that the minute he'd drink it, all he'd get was warm... green... water.
     Deceptive. Disgusting.

     "There's... got to be a different way to help with a sore throat," Terry tried to reason with Wren. "Look, I'm barely human too, in my own way, and I'm doing fine without tea, see?" He coughed. "Soup usually hits the spot. You ever tried soup?"

      He was desperate to not have tea.

The elf brought her small cup to her mouth, it was hardly bigger than a shot glass. But she didn't really care. It was nice, sweet, and berry-based. She provided a stiff gaze to the teacher across from her. Mandragora placed down the cup onto the table between them. Most would have found the silence awkward, she found it peaceful. But obviously, the teacher didn't he shifted in his chair a bit about to speak. 

Mandragora held up a hand, stopping him from breaking the beautiful silence. With her other hand grabbing a small plate full of biscuits. Giving a nod down to them, her gold chains clinking about with the subtle movements of her head

Soon after the him and Mandragora got seated, a servant set the tea, teaware, and a few extra dishes down on the table. The design of everything that was placed was elegant, the main theme being white and a light shade of purple. It was obviously expensive, but that was just how Lavera was with everything. Well, not that it had to be expensive, but it had to look nice. The servant then poured some tea into their cups, and afterwards proceeded to leave the room.

"The tea is from a custom blend to suit my own tastes, but I do hope you enjoy it. Feel free to help yourself to the food as well," Lavera smiled and picked up his cup, taking a sip out of it. The drink was on the sweeter side, but not so much that it didn't taste like how you'd normally expect tea to taste. After a few small sips he attempted to start a conversation with the elf, but he soon noticed that she seemed to be uninterested in talking. He wasn't much of a fan of silence, but the classical music that played was enough to keep him from feeling all that awkward. As long as she didn't spit the tea out or look at it funny, he didn't have much to fret about. 

Despite the lack of much communication, he quite enjoyed their time together. It was a different experience than he's used to, but he didn't hate it.

Lavera had to be stuck with a screaming child. Or, usually Melantha was screaming. Though she wasn't in the least bit thrilled about her "situation", seated with someone who she figured would rather spend time with someone beautiful and more worthwhile than as others considered herself, she supposed all she could do was hope he wasn't so much of a snob as she anticipated. She was quick to pray. Maybe praying before a demon wasn't the best course of action.

"Here you go." Melantha set the platter before Lavera, and then just... stood there. Was this awkward? Sure. With an icy gaze, she watched him closely. "It's sweet." she then mentioned to him, "We have real sweet tea here. It's none of that northerner shit, them and their garbage tea." In other words, it was just like going to a McDonald's and ordering tea from there. If only Melantha knew what McDonald's was.

In spite of her initial unease, she slid into the chair across from him. She traced the rim of her cup, before lifting it to her mouth. After a small sip, she finally spoke to him -- properly spoke to him. "I don't know what it is you're meant to rule over. Do you rule over anything?" she inquired, "You must be of some... some use. Do you make deals? Anything of the sort?"

Part of Melantha hoped Lavera was as mischievous as she built him up as in that stupid little brain of hers. Wouldn't it be so useful to have the supernatural with her? Some said her retainer was a demon, but she saw him for what he was, truly -- a man driven by a desire for violence. Demons, Melantha thought when she saw the one before her, were more sophisticated. She didn't know if she preferred that or not.

"Let me know if you like the tea." she then drawled out, "I'll get more for you. Some shortbread, too."

the peepee poopooo man

Roswell leaned back against Gustav. The camel functioned as a makeshift seat and portable heater. Autumn had begun in the mountains, the sky was dark and the nights were long. Small clouds escaped Roswell's lips every time he breathed.
"Yer here for revenge?" He asked Melantha. The person that allowed him to rest at her camp, and drinks her tea. And Roswell had accepted it all, without flinching. All under the guise of being a lone caravanner. He even smiled. Before pressing the steaming hot cup of tea against his lips.

Tea. Roswell let out a snort. It was boiled snow water, with some dried herbs. It tasted like dirt as it was polluted with mud. But it was warm. It was drinkable. The last thing you wanted was getting dehydrated in a place like this. Roswell had heard the stories as it was an awfully common way to die up here. So he drank. Mud and all. "Revenge got me far kid," he told Melantha. He spat on the ground beside him. "It got me through de plague. Got me through days of bein' smuggled, up north" he confessed. Roswell shrugged. "It sure didn't make me rich. But oi'm a caravanner dat can pay for his own camel, for his own spice. Sure me revenge wasn't as focussed as yers. But it was strong enough to keep 'n burn inside me. Loike a flame. Dey say revenge blinds yer," the one-eyed crooked warned. "But for me? It gave me purpose, warmth. Motivation to keep going. What are yer going to do after yer get yers?" He asked while pouring himself a new cup of mud-tea. "Do yer return to her home? Or.. Chase yer father's believes even further?" 

--

(Wraith doesn't understand tea xD)

Wraith looked down at the mug in front of him, head tilted to the side slightly as he stared at it. He leant forward slightly and sniffed the aroma coming from the liquid inside the mug, wrinkling his nose slightly at the smell. His gaze then went to Roswell, the shifters honey brown eyes showing uncertainty before he looked back at the drink. What was this? Warm water with plants? Why? Surely it was no different from the water that Roswell had forced him to bathe in several times, so why was it a drink that people chose to indulge in? It was something to help keep you clean, right?

 As the shifter continued to study the strange drink in front of him, with a look of unfamiliarity and a determination to figure out what it was, he didn't catch the amused look of Roswell sitting opposite him.

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