poetic justice

Outside of the café, David sat on one of the chairs placed in the sun, his eyes closed, breathing in the summery air that surrounded him in a breeze. His arms were slowly beginning to tan as he took the chance to finally wear a t-shirt - a witty one with a pun printed on in today. Instead of a coffee, there was an iced tea on the table in front of him as he ran a hand through his brown locks and continued scribbling into the little notebook in his lap. It was time for some haüüier poetry and this day was just perfect for inspiration, so he would use his lunchbreak to write.

Rachel had taken her sweet time to get up that day. She had stayed up until it was already dawning again and following that she had slept until it was already getting closer to lunch time. The sun was shining outside and people were wearing less fabric on their body than before. You could almost take the summer approaching. It made the blonde smile as she didn't put on a warming jacket over her t-shirt and slipped into the flip flops instead of the winter boots. She was going to the café where David worked at more often these days and it wasn't even primarily because she enjoyed the company of the other man. The atmosphere was perfect for her plans to unfold, her mind was just bursting with new ideas. It was a very pleasant surprise though when she spotted the familiar guy sitting outside the café, enjoying the sun. Quiet like a spy - no pun intended - she approached behind him before whispering into his ear. "What are you working on, Mr Dickens?"

David was so into the words and phrases that unfolded on the paper, sucked into his own little world, the real one becoming a blur around him. Scribbling letter per letter, the chains of words had already filled almost a full page as he heard a voice near his ear. The Briton looked up, lowering the pen, more confused than surprised or even scared. Then, a smile spread on his lips, the words getting to him now, and he allowed himself a little laugh before he met the girl's eyes. "Wow, hey, Rachel, sorry." Taking his legs down from the chair he had casually put them on for more comfort, he pulled it close and motioned for the blonde to sit down. "I totally zoned out. No Dickens today, it's more of a ... poetic drabble."

Rachel grinned when he finally noticed her presence. It remembered her a lot of how she could get sucked into her planning only to realise that Felix had been leaning against the wall just watching her since quite a while. "I do that as well.", she laughed and let herself drop down onto the offered chair with easy, putting her bag next to her on the side where it couldn't be easily grabbed by someone else. "To be honest, Dickens was always kind of a bore to me anyway." She blicked a little because the sun was shining directly in her face, before deciding that moving her chair a little bit to the right would solve that problem. "So you're only writing poetry then? What kind of poetry is it?" The blonde had never met a person before who wrote stories or could become and author given time, so she was intrigued to get a look into the mind of a writer.

David chuckled as he studied Rachel's face. "Well, I'm glad I'm not the only one!" When David wrote, that was his time off, it was the timeframe he took only for himself, which was something he needed on a regular basis. Back in the day, when he had lived with his family, they had rarely been able to rip the book he was currently reading or the notebook that he was scribbling in out of his hands, and the habit had stuck with him. Sitting up, David closed the little book and placed it onto the table. "A bore?" His eyes widened a bit. "Excuse you! Oliver's Twist is one masterpiece. I used to love it when I was younger." Adjusting himself on the chair again, he took a sip of his iced tea. "Oh, no, I also write stories, novellas, mostly, but lots and lots of poetry, yeah." He pulled up his shoulders a bit as his gaze danced over to the notebook that held the outcome of his creative mind. "Casual poetry. It's about what... well, what I see. Around here, mostly. Doesn't neccessarily rhyme, that needs a bit more concentration."

Rachel watched him close the book and giving his full attention to her. It was nice to know that David probably wasn't watching his surrounding with part of his attention to spot a possible threat lurking around the next corner like she was. It had become an almost unconscious thing to do for the agent by now and no one who wasn't suffering from the same kind of paranoia would actually see that she was paying far more attention to what was going on around her than the usual person. "Come on, that guy writes sentences that take up a whole page.", she argued. "Not saying that the plot isn't great because it's really interesting but the writing is just incomprehensible." Actually Rachel had given up on reading it towards the near end because one of the other children in that particular foster home had found it funny to make the book disappear just in time for her class test about it. Needless to say that the blonde hadn't been amused at all about that little practical joke. Later when she had moved into the apartment in Las Vegas with Felix and her other friends, she had watched the movie adaptation. "Wow. I couldn't even write a whole page without loosing interest. You're quite dedicated.", she pushed her hair back behind her left ear again. "Not all poetry rhymes, I'm told. If you ever feel like sharing something you wrote with me, please do it." She smiled to make sure that he wouldn't feel pressured into showing her something. People who wrote could be very hesitant about sharing their writing with anyone.

David looked at the female in front of him and noticed that she was utterly attentive to everything around her, which was quite admirable. It was very useful to be able to concentrate on a lot of things at once, and while David tried to do that a lot while working, he found himself focusing on one thing or person almost too much sometimes. A chuckle errupted from his lips. "You're right but look at it this way: the guy must have had a real talent for writing if he could fill one page with a single sentence." The briton took a sip from his iced tea, then turned the notebook to a random page and ran his fingers over the letters. "It's - hopefully - going to be what I do with my life. Like, to earn money when I finished university." That was the plan anyway. David had tried to forget the voice of his father that still quietly echoed in the back of his head, that he could never live off of writing; but as an author, he knew, life wasn't always easy. But wasn't that was life was about, really? "Oh, do you want to hear a bit of it?" Even though a lot of his poetry was very personal, he liked to share the outcome quite a bit.

Rachel smiled at his and nodded. “Sure but my teacher always yelled at me when I wrote run-on sentences. He preferred them to be short and easy to understand on the first read. Each to their own though.” She shrugged easily. It was no longer difficult for her to share information with David, not like it had been the first time she had met him where she was worried about what she could tell him and what not. She had voiced those concerns to Wilkes in one of their sessions. At least she had something to talk to him about even though she hated seeing him. But since it had been requested she could hardly not show up. He had told her that the best lies contain at least a little amount of truth and that little stories would strengthen the credibility of her identity. “I’m sure if you’re determined and passionate enough that won’t be a problem.”, she encouraged him with a gleam in her eyes. People who had dreams were so fascinating to see because she didn’t know any anymore. The last dream she had had was to move to New York, something that seemed so little and short-sighted by now. “Yes! Of course! I’d be flattered.” Rachel leaned forward a little and for once trained her attention solely on David.

David shrugged, jokingly. "Most teachers like to make it as easy on themselves as possible. Sure, long sentences are harder to read through and it may take a bit to understand, but once you do..." He stopped himself as he noticed he was rambling. He could talk and talk about books and authors for hours without a stop. A bright smile formed on his lips when she spoke. "Thanks, Rachel. I'm sure you will be a great electric engineer aswell." Now, he skimmed the pages of his own writing to find a drabble suitable to read to her; nothing too personal, even though he had nothing to hide obviously, but something that would introduce her to his writing well. Still smiling to himself, he placed his finger on a passage and cleared his throat. "Well, then. I hold a little piece of nothing as it runs through my hands Shamelessly dripping from my fingers Remainder clinging to my skin like small needles Piercing the truth lightly to my conscience These people we keep in our hearts Chained to the veins to keep them from Running through the blue And bleed from us like from a papercut..." He stopped and laughed, looking up at the blonde.