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

radiofever I forgot the ping I am so sorry

Salvador's fingers drummed on the edges of his tea cup. He was anxious. His eyes constantly shifted between Coal and his video camera. Photo cameras, videocams, he was familiar with both. But this machine looked so different as the one he knew. It was heavier, dark, surely it had a lens. But there were no other matches with the models he knew. No wood. No sheet.
"I am not a ghost," he said as he took a sip of his lukewarm tea. "I am just half-alive," he added. Salvador was happy for the tea, it grounded him in this... Interview of sorts. Salvador was never photographed before, let alone filmed, so hardly knew how to act. Even drinking his tea happened with shaking hands and a wrinkled nose.  Every tendon he tightened felt animatic and visible. "I have died." His voice trailed off. "I got better. A dead man walking." Salvador's gaze shifted from the lens, back to Coal. He quickly adjusted his gaze to his tea next. A dull Earl Grey blend, that lost its taste 23 seconds ago. "Ever since, I do sometimes feel like I can... Feel the other side of the Void," he said. "The… Dead space," he awkwardly explained. "Where ghost linger and duvels." Salvador pressed the edges of his finger against the cup. Allowing the skin to turn pale. "I know that sounds stupid. Ghost don't exist." 

--

     It was quiet train ride, but a comfortable silence. It was one thing-- of many-- that NV appreciated about their friend, he didn't need conversation in order to be at peace. They didn't feel that desperate worry to have something interesting to say. Even then, Salvador had enough adventures for the both of them with the few heist stories they had heard.

     For now, they settled in their cabin, a table between them and two warm cups of tea. NV made no attempt to drink theirs just yet, content with the warmth it gave their hands. They stared out the window, watching the scenery blur past.
     "I wish this ride wouldn't end," they murmured without looking at Salvador. "This ride, this moment. We don't have to worry about our lives right now, or all the wrong parts waiting for us. We just get to enjoy this and spend time together. It makes me almost want to mourn that it's going to be over soon." As if on cue, the train conductor announced that they would arrive at the station within fifteen minutes.

     NV looked at their tea, waiting only for the moments Sal was looking away before taking sips between their wraps. Warm. Minty.
     "I hope you can take your family here someday. It would be nice to share moments like these with them."

^ He can’t help but to enable onsae lmao
——————
“Tapioca pearls.. in iced peppermint tea? At least it’s not coffee.”

The situation is strange, albeit quite funny. It’s almost empty due to the time, yet the cafe’ owner tried to cater to the last person at the counter. While she didn’t serve boba drinks, she likely got the pearls from making extra for her boba desserts. She left the two men alone a little bit ago to go find more things to add to the tea- trying to make it taste more like the drink Onsae seemed after.  Eden looked at him oddly, wondering if the upbeat monk  would drink from the little experiment. Though it seems very unlikely. 

”I’d recommend one of the desserts the pearls are for, they are... close enough. Not drinkable though. Not like the drink on the counter is or will be either.”
He took a sip of his own cup, laughing along to any potential response. He leans on the one of the covered display tables as they both wait for the owner to come back. The tone of the place remains cheerful, despite whether or not the two chat. Admittedly Onsae was a good change in the place. Usually until rush hour it carriers a very somber mood from others. Though odd how he never opened up like other chatty people tend to do.

“By the way,”
He took a second to try and remember something.
“There’s a boba shop on the next street over, it’s well loved in the area and opens in a bit. Definitely preferable than putting the pearls in whatever. Though you might be bugged for skin and hair care tips from some of the employees.”
——————
GASP. Peaceful tea time- had to do a lil follow up-

“My compliments to the chef,” Olivier barked. He laughed as he gently picked up one of the baked goods Eden had taken with him. The Hero’s tea had gone cold minutes ago, untouched and abandoned. Olivier’s eyes only lingered on the small pastries. Small, warm, fresh. Its taste was everything the Hero needed on his long journey. It reminded him of home.

Olivier stretched his legs as he made himself more comfortable on the tree trunk. The sun managed to pierce through the many layers of foliage above them, painting the scene in a soft yellow light. Trees curled over them like lone guards, and somewhere farther on in the grass a squirrel scurried. It was peaceful here. Quiet.
Olivier eyed his guest with raised brows. “Are you familiar with the forest?” Olivier couldn’t help but ask. His eyes quickly darted over the other’s physic. “You are dressed as a businessman. Baking like a baker, looking like…” Olivier’s eyes narrowed while he still sheepishly chewed on the small treat. His hand now finally reaching for his cold tea, taking a sip, while still staring at the other.
“Not human,” the Hero finally concluded. Between a bite and another sip. “At least not those from my village. Or those who live near this forest,” Olivier said. He shrugged. “No matter,” he laughed. “You bake like a God!”

It was a warm, sunny day -- some slender, pure white clouds streaked the sky, and a flock of blackbirds flew above their heads. Ernest took the moment to watch the birds, and then gaze across the rolling hills that surrounded them for any other sign of life, but all else he found other than Olivier was a family in the farthest distance, mere pindrops against the grassy plain. Quiet for a long time, lost in thought, he nearly forgot about the other man... until he pushed himself to carry on, and placed a tall glass before Olivier. Black tea, iced, the sugar inside the drink causing for it to be turned into a soft, deep gold. Beside the glass, he set down a little plate of sandwiches, and then sat across from him with his own drink cradled in his hands.

"I know you have such a strong sense of smell that..." He looked at the tea. No doubt it even smelled obnoxiously sweet. "I hope that it does not bother you -- it shouldn't, I'm sure you can't point out every bit of sugar, but... I cannot help it." He tried to laugh, but it didn't come out like he wanted to, a single, dry 'ha'. "Never mind it... I hope everything is fine, anyway -- I even bought a new table, and..."

"..But, what I wanted to say, getting to the point..." Ernest sipped from his drink. "I heard through the vine, the troubles you've undergone in your journey, and it simply had me curious. Maybe not so much concern -- you look like you can handle yourself without much trouble." He paused, then, and glanced at Olivier's prosthetic. He heard of the other man lost it in a fight, but not much else beyond that. It almost frightened him to think that might be going beyond the village, in the far west, where... "Oh, my apologies, I was thinking of... bah. Here. Why don't you tell me a story, Sir Doornhart?"

Poetry and tea. Xander’s fingers rested around Ernest poetry bundle. A book that was bundled differently from the ones in Kretschwick. One with strange words. Different letters, grammar and spacing, then Xander was used too. And still, it was the best gift you could give him.
“I hardly meet any poetry writers,” he said. Giving the other an apologetic smile. “I know how strange that sounds, coming from me.” Xander lowered his gaze back to the book and allowed his fingers to walk through the pages. “I can tell you that I’m busy. Or too focused with my own work. But we both know that’s a weak excuse, my good sir,” he said. His fingers paused. Xander finally put down the book and reached for his half filled teacup. Rosebud, his favorite. “Thank you. For meeting me here, and drink tea with me,” he said. Genuinely humbled.

Xander shook his head. His gaze shifting away from the other and inspecting the small study they sat in. The fireplace was burning. Their coats, wet from snow and mud, were drying near the flames. Xander let out his breath. It was peaceful. Except for the occasional clink of the cups and teapot and the crackle of the fire. And still you could hear the roaring world outside. The wooden wheels that rattled down the cobblestone streets, or the shuffling of feet. Xander’s smiled and shook his head.
“I can give you some older scrips of my stage plays in return. Like a trade, my dear sir,” he purposed to Ernest. “It’s… Different from your writing and not only in form,” he warned. Xander laughed. “It’s written in here. In Drakenburg. I sometimes,” he paused thoughtfully. “-_{Maybe because I hardly speak with poets} - forget how… Influential time and space is, to the words that we write.” 

--
Xander with his very important draft he needs to edit

The atmosphere surrounding Wraith and Xander was somewhat peaceful; the pair of them sat at a table with their own teacups in front of them. On Xanders side of the table were old papers written in a language Wraith wasn't entire sure of; but after asking Xander what they were, he gave a nod. Play scripts, quite a lot of them actually, or maybe it was just one play; not like Wraith understood what a stage play was. The panther shifter stared absent-mindedly into his tea, before his fingers twitched and the feeling of unrest surfaced. His mind had been racing all throughout the day, and the better part of last night; he reached into the inner lining of his coat before pausing. He didn't really like the idea of pulling out his old leather journal in front of someone....but, he closed his eyes briefly, feeling his unrest beginning to bubble into growing frustration, he had to sort this out. 

Quietly he pulled out his note book and a few pencils and pens, it felt almost wrong to place such a wounded and sinister looking book onto the table in Xanders home, with it's torn leather and dried blood stains across the cover and sometimes creeping into a aged paper. He opened the book and began to slowly sketch on the next page, the one before bore the picture of twisted black trees as a border, with the words of a tortured soul in the form of poem in the centre of the page. He exhaled and idly moved the pencil back and forth on the page, not really drawing anything at first but eventually it began to take the form of a dead plant....one of the ones in Xanders home; but so realistic that it looks like you could pick it up from page. 

The scarred man was so absorbed in sketching that he missed what Xander said. He blinked and looked up. "Hmm?" Wraith said blinking once more. "Sorry, I didn't catch what you said."

(If you wanna play spot the journal here is the picture xD I really need to draw a picture of Wraith with it) 

      "Just being around you... it makes me want to come up with poetry on the spot." Lawrence's tone was gentle -- and a little meek. Who wouldn't be timid around a queen? Especially a queen who could conjure blizzards, whose mere form radiated a frigid cold that seemed to cool whatever she touched? He wanted not to be afraid of her, but nevertheless, he could not help but to be cautious. Still, with a tranquil smile, he knew it was necessary to treat her as any other, royal or not. In even the tiniest of moments, to feel like a human being...

     "The beauty of snow under starlight with little deer trekking along, and then ice reflecting the morning sun. It suits you... or, I think it does -- please just humor me here." Lawrence spoke calmly from where he worked at the counter. Eventually, he returned to her, and set down a tall glass before her, a straw poking out from the top. Within was matcha milk tea, the top of the drink sinking from white to a soft green, clumps of brown sugar boba resting at the very bottom. "I bought this little kit for myself hoping to share it with someone... and who better to, hm?"

     Lawrence sat down across from her and leaned back on the loveseat. "I guess you don't have to worry too much about keeping it warm." he commented, "Ah, but... there is more I want to talk to you about. Is the milk tea really alright? I should-- you know, I should hope so. I wouldn't want to give you something you hate!" He laughed, but quickly settled down.

     "You are quite an interesting woman, after all, Your Grace." The man continued on. It was then that his lilac eyes softened once more, and he leaned against his palm, pulling on his smile. "From your balls, to your wardrobe, to even your cat... oh, I wish yours and mine could meet. Ruby, was it? ..Does Ruby like milk? I know-- I know they shouldn't have it, but as a little treat... at a play-date later in the future... If not ourselves, then perhaps they could become friends instead?"

Being an avid drinker of tea, Buck was no excuse to letting others come in for a bit of a drink - maybe it was the fatherly nature in him or the fact he had a child of his own to accompany that nature. Yet, he sat right across from Lawrence, pouring him a cup of tea as he slid it over on a tiny plate before he spoke, "I haven't seen someone like you around here.." His voice was quiet, letting itself sink in as the fire nearby cracked and let itself be known in the dimly lit room. "You're certainly not from around the woods like I am, aren't you?"

He gave a small, quiet sigh. "You've told me about yourself a bit since we met, you've made books before - so I've heard. Poetry, is it?" Buck now poured himself a cup of tea, slowly picking it up in his paw as he drank a few sips. "I was always a fan of poetry when I was younger, I studied it a lot to my parents dislike." Buck then gave a quiet laugh, setting down the tea. "Though, poetry is something to be respected, especially with having four books about just that writing. I'd love to read some, maybe - if you came back here, that is." 

The tea they shared was a flowery one. Chamomile and peppermint. Dandelion quietly folded his hands around the ceramic mug. Allowing for the heath slowly seeping into his fingers.
“I…” He looked Buck over. “What’s it like? Taking care of a daughter?” he asked. Before hastily taking a sip of his tea. Forcing a pause in dialogue between them. But also burning his tongue as he did so.“I… Sorry, if that question was too direct,” he said. Dandelion let out his breath. He forced his gaze away from the wolf-man and towards the small branch of the river winding before them. It was getting late. The mosquitoes were already dancing above the water. “How did you meet Malty?” Dandelion pressed his fingers tightly against the mug. “Are there things you’ve regret doing? Parental wise?”

--

Dandelion was less calm. His fingers plucked the edges of his sleeves, his nose twitched. The edges of his fur pricked upward. 
This cafe…. Dandelion’s eyes swiftly looked around. The flowers eased the druid in a way. Still, Haneul’s words caught him off guard, and the rabbitfolk almost jumped out of his chair. “W-White,” he replied. Not knowing the other was as on edge as he was. “With cranberries… How about you?”

It's evening now- fireflies drift their wobbly path through the air, and the clouds scudding across the sky are barely perceptible against the gloom of its color. Ariel sits across from Haneul in the courtyard of his stately home. The surroundings are pleasant: Ariel has strung up fairy lights, glowing warmly in the dark and attracting fluttering moths. He rests his forearms on the glass table, his hands cupping a mug of tea. A similar one sits in front of the emissary, gentle curls of steam wisping from it. For ordinary people it would perhaps be a mistake to have caffeine this late in the day, but these were not ordinary people, and they did not have ordinary waking hours. For Ariel's part, he'd be up in his studio for almost the remainder of the night, busying himself industriously on this or that sculpture- whichever of his many works in progress grabbed his attention, anyway. He meets Haneul's gaze with a warm smile.

"You seem tired, but I suppose there's little rest for you," Ariel says, and he taps lightly on the ceramic of his cup with his fingernails. "I'm sure you'll have to go soon- don't worry about finishing the tea. There's plenty to go around."

Yes, Haneul seemed like someone who had it all together, though Ariel still feels for him. How can he not? He seems more busy than anyone has any right to be, and there is a world-weariness in his eyes that is impossible to ignore. It's no surprise that Ariel is intent on showing him some kindness. What could he have seen, Ariel wonders, to make him feel this way? Perhaps it's best not to know.