Chance Encounter

[nomorekaraoke]

Any given Sunday around this time of day (or night, as the case may be, sometimes) will find Lorne seeking the familiar comforts of his favourite tea house. Francis', named after its owner and proprietor, is a very hush hush place most readily accessible from smack dab in the middle of Manhattan's China Town. Or rather, the tea house itself can be accessed from China Town in various locations, should you know enough to gain entrance.

One needs only find the right door, knock on it twice, and speak the demonic pass word to be let in. Inside, the lone bouncer will gruffily jab a thumb at the wrought metal staircase winding its way down, down, down to the tea house proper. The moment one sets foot on the first step, the scents of freshly baked bread and sweet pastries will seize one's olfactory sense and urge one down the may twists of the staircase. There are three floors made available for guests and patrons alike, full of tables and plush armchairs and couches of varying shapes and sizes and color that blend into a warmth one seldom finds above ground. At the very bottom of the stairs is a polished wooden floor, coated with several layers of protective magic for those unfortunate demons to whom oak is toxic. To the side, a massive counter with all manner of treats available for inspection, all of which - rare though it may be for such establishments - are safe for human consumption.

Behind the counter stands Francis himself, rivalling the counter with his own gigantic, infectiously exuberant bulk, ever ready to take one's order.

In the far corner, blanketed by the warmth emanating from the nearby kitchens, sits Lorne enjoying his usual treat of very, very green tea and very, very scrumptious red bean pastries.

Comments

[stilljustandrew]

A nice feature of the tearoom is that the staircase is visible from any seat in the house that doesn't actually have its back turned.

This means that when an unprepossessing-looking human in sneakers and jeans comes meandering down the stairs, anyone in the room can see him coming.

[nomorekaraoke]

It is by pure chance Lorne looks up from his reading the Sunday paper, but it isn't pure chance alone that sends his eyes Andrew's way. Unprepossessing so rarely looks quite this adorable, that he'll recognize it anywhere.

One quirk of his brow later, Lorne raises his hand in a wave to call attention to himself. "Hey, doll face!"

[stilljustandrew]

On his way to the counter, Andrew glances up -- and over his shoulder to see if he can spot who the demon's addressing.

[nomorekaraoke]

"Oh, pretty please with saccharine on top, don't tell me no one's ever called you doll face before!" He responds to the unspoken prompt, waving Andrew over with a come hither gesture courtesy of several of his fingers.

"Fancy seeing you here."

[stilljustandrew]

Andrew hesitates; he's here to talk to Francis. (Not for any specific information, just making his usual rounds, maintaining contacts.)

But with a shrug, he turns and heads over to Lorne's table instead. "Hi," he says, when he's close enough to speak without raising his voice.

[nomorekaraoke]

Lorne smiles, gesturing at the seat next to his. "Long time no chit-chat."

[stilljustandrew]

"Yeah. How've you been?"

It's a little cautious, but only a little; they parted on reasonably good terms.

[nomorekaraoke]

"I've been hustling my bustle like there's no tomorrow, hombre." As he says this, he makes a sweeping motion with his right hand, as if to do what one does with that good ol' proverbial rug.

"You?"

[stilljustandrew]

"Um ... I'm doing okay. Catching up on stuff now that I'm back this side of the pond." He tilts his head, indicating their surroundings. "Checking in with my peeps."

[nomorekaraoke]

"Ah, yes. It never hurts to keep in touch." He gives Andrew a nod, leaning back in his seat. "Don't let me keep you from doing your thing, but tell you what... If you feel like continuing this tête à tête when you're done, I certainly wouldn't mind some company."

[stilljustandrew]

Huh. If this were at Milliways, he wouldn't think twice, but ...

Well, what's the harm? He planned on spending the day maintaining contacts, after all, and arguably Lorne's a potential contact. Possibly a very valuable one. And ...

Who's he kidding. Lorne's likable, is what he is. And maybe, strange as it seems, a potential friend.

He gives a small smile. "Sure."

[nomorekaraoke]

It makes perfect sense to Lorne, who's ever vigilant in his networking ambitions. Of course, they keep meeting up at the strangest intersections on an oft-times rocky road, but at the very least Lorne quite enjoyed their last chat. It was a nice change of pace from constantly having his bantering bonanza indulged rather than appreciated. It was nice chatting with Andrew.

"Then I'll leave you to your rubbing elbows with China Town's finest."

[stilljustandrew]

Andrew gives a little wave, and heads back towards the counter.

He spends about ten minutes talking with Francis over chai and bearclaws. His teahouse doesn't tend to attract the big movers and shakers of the demon demimonde, or the types involved in serious violence; it's generally neutral ground by virtue of common agreement, rather than any house rule. But the people who come here do still gossip, and Francis is so easy to talk to that he picks up a lot of it.

Not that Andrew's pumping him for information today. Just ... passing time, saying hello. Making sure things are okay.

[nomorekaraoke]

Francis, in all his rotund glory, is as merry as can be. He has a successful business, and he gets to do what he loves even when he isn't shooting the breeze with his customers and friends - he gets to bake. Cookies and biscuits and tarts and big loaves of sour dough and everything he can think of. His wife handles the greenhouse vegetables and the egg collecting in the mornings, wonderful human that she is, leaving Francis plenty of time for work time fun and games.

"So I tell him, see, you not get to come here, this my home! Go to tea house!" He guffaws, unable to pace himself. "And he skits away so fast time makes him blurry! He never come to my house again. Is easy mistake, finding wrong door. Still, fond memory, scared little demon. We fix magic since then, no problems."

All the while, Lorne watches from his comfy corner, enjoying the amiable display. Francis is a darling, as always, and his accent is so cute.

[stilljustandrew]

Round of gossip completed, Andrew orders a half-dozen almond croissants to take home and a second chai for here. Francis gives him the refill on the house, and Andrew tucks a little extra into the tip jar.

And then meanders toward Lorne's table, mug in one hand, white paper bag in the other.

[nomorekaraoke]

By now, Lorne's had a refill from one of the very friendly waitresses, and has skipped right past the obituaries to the funny pages.

Not that they ever outdo actual conversation. He looks up as Andrew approaches, a small smile doing wonders to his entire face. "So we meet again, Mister Wells."

Please pick up the glaringly obvious Bond reference.

[stilljustandrew]

"Ah, but this time the advantage is mine," he counters with a grin.

Beat.

"Um, where 'advantage' is defined as having a bag of pastries."

[nomorekaraoke]

"Well of course it's an advantage," he says with an answering grin. "It's a bag of pastries, and you're talking to one of the biggest sweet teeth in the house."

Once again he gestures to the vacant seat, hoping that this time Andy will take him up on his offer and stick around for a while.

[stilljustandrew]

He slides into the seat and sets the mug and his bag on the tabletop.

"So what brings you here?"

[nomorekaraoke]

"The tea," he says, picking up his cup and saucer. "And the treats, of course, not to mention the lovely décor and the owners themselves... I try to come here every Sunday, unwind my inner music box."

That he's telling Andrew this seemingly minute detail doesn't bother him nearly as much as he thinks it should, but what's done is done.



And, a small voice whispers to him softly. Andrew knows what happens to people who abuse your trust.

[stilljustandrew]

"Yeah," he says, "Francis is pretty cool ... And this place does the best eclair in the city, hands down."

He takes a sip of chai, and looks a little wistful. "I don't usually get time to hang out and relax here."

[nomorekaraoke]

"That's not the only best thing in town they do," Lorne murmurs, shooting Andrew a cheeky but not too meaningful wink.

"It's a good place for it. Comfiest seats in China Town, and the vibes are absolutely delightful."

[stilljustandrew]

"I know, right? Something about the atmosphere here. And it's totally natural, no mood-altering magics, I checked into it."

[nomorekaraoke]

"That's the best kind, isn't it." It's a detail Lorne didn't know for certain, but has suspected for quite some time. Magic has a rather twangy edge to it that the atmosphere here just doesn't.

"They don't call Francis a humanitarian for nothing."

[stilljustandrew]

"Demonitarian," he suggests, as though trying out the word.