An American in London

Bil is on their way home from a gig as they pass along Portobello Road, a lit cigarette dangling from their bottom lip. It's freezing out, and their leather jacket isn't doing much to protect them from the elements, the thin t-shirt they're wearing underneath still clinging to their body with rapidly-cooling sweat. Unlike many of their friends, they don't drink, but it's on January nights like this that they've got half a mind to start - a beer jacket might stand a fighting chance at keeping them warm.

They aren't really expecting anyone to acknowledge them. Even without their headphones, Bil isn't particularly approachable, and the few that brave it anyway can usually be dissuaded by an awkward half smile and a quick nod of acknowledgement. But the woman waving to them from the window of a nearby food truck is being so friendly, they can't quite bring themselves to brush her off.

Eira eyed the lit cigarette warily as they approached, grateful when they held it further away from the window, and she nodded in appreciation, giving them another smile. It wasn't just the proximity to the food, and she knew from experience how hard it was to get the scent out of her clothes and hair. Still, she knew lots of people smoked and not everyone was considerate about it.

"Yeah?", she asked, making sure they really wanted it before she went to dish it up. "Four pounds, but it's really good- sweet and a little spicy from the cinnamon and cayenne pepper. It'll warm you right up in this weather.", she assured with a confident grin. She'd covertly offered a bit of a discount, given it was so close to closing and she'd have to throw out the rest of the batch at closing if it didn't sell.

When Gabriel had first heard of a vegan Tex-Mex food truck, he was apprehensive, to say the very least. After quite a few nights of ordering from said food truck, especially when he and Ansel hadn’t been able to get food elsewhere, he has ultimately warmed up to the idea. Which, is exactly why he’s here now at nearly two in the morning, exhausted from his shift at the casino.

Eira nodded enthusiastically in response, then follows it up to confirm, "Gabe, it's so good, but you really can't just take my word for it.", she insisted. "You have to try it." At this point, even if he decided he didn't want to buy any, she probably would have given him a sample at least, eager for him to taste it. It had taken her several tries to get the recipe just right, and now she wanted everyone to have some. "It's so comforting.", she assured him.

“I dunno Braille too well anyways, darling, but thank you. Could you tell me some of the options? I think I could go with something to eat, absolutely.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but let her go once she jumped in and started talking and just nodded along and savored another sip of his latte. "You're fine. I've saw the truck's accounts have been doing quite well, so I'm sure you've been busy. And I'd be happy to come by whenever works for you-" Sefa paused, brows shooting up as she went on.

She laughed happily and relaxed a little when he accused her of being formal, she was doing just that. "Yeah, but you're my Uncle, and the closest thing I've got to family here in the city.", she said. "No! I'm not pregnant; it's nothing like that, but we are moving in together. I've never lived with a man before, so I guess it's a big deal to me. We actually just started dating, sort of, but we've been together a long time-- it's complicated.", she finished, waving the details away with a hand. "I really hope you like him when you meet him.", she said with a grin. Even just thinking about Kaan, she couldn't wipe the silly smile from her face. "When would work best for you?"

Raising his eyebrows as it all fell into place, he nodded, agreeing "Right" as if her name had been the only mystery. "How've you been? Still in England?" If she'd told him anything about how an American--or was she Canadian?--had come to London, he didn't remember it now. To be honest, all he cared about was making sure she didn't drop something wild on him like having a kid. He knew his name wasn't common in this part of the world, but this seemed like a long time to remember someone who'd only stuck around for a few hours.

"Oh yes, I'm still in England. Things have been quite busy lately, of course. How have you been, and Sabahat and Tolga-- I trust they've been well? I believe Doruk had a bit of difficulty lately... I hope he's healing well from his recent incident.", she added, a genuine warmth and empathy coming through her tone. Kaan had told her about it, and Ceylan tended to gossip and tell her all sorts of things that had happened to the family, so she was very familiar with them all. It hadn't been difficult for her to put two and two together. "Has Emir been staying out of trouble?"

"Yes, that. Hot chocolate," he replied, gaze barely meeting the speaker's. If he was lucky, she wouldn't recognize him. "And whatever else you'd recommend," he continued. "I'm not entirely picky."

With a nod, she moved to quickly and efficiently scoop some of the hot chocolate into a cup, then a cup of piping hot rice soup. Returning to place the cups on the ledge, one with a spoon and the other with a lid, she nodded to them. "The Enchilada Rice Soup is one of our best sellers." Beginning to ring up the sale, she asked, "Is there anything else I can get you, Martin?" She added the name softly, almost too quietly, just loud enough for him to know that she remembered him.

He's never put a lot of stock into what's fated or written in the stars, but the one thing horoscopes can reliably get right about Sefa is that rituals are sacred and not to be disturbed without a good reason. Especially if they're one of his few indulgences. For example, he only drinks decaf exactly once a week: once the office closes Friday evening, and he can go out of his way to the slightly more obscure coffeeshop for a decaf caramel latte, a couple teacakes, and some delicious peace and quiet.

People who know him know exactly where he is, and usually avoid it.

There's a low rumble of conversations scattered through the mostly empty shop and some softly crackling jazz in the background, and periodically one of the baristas has to go over and futz with the record player if it starts to skip. Sefa lets himself close his eyes and breathe out.

When she saw Sefa at his usual table, Eira approached with a bounce in her step. Still, she wasn't sure exactly what to say to begin, so she stayed quiet until he opened his eyes again and spoke. Though she regretted disturbing him, what was worse was letting so much time pass without visiting him, so she hugged him warmly in greeting and pressed a kiss to his cheek before sliding into the seat across from him and popping a teacake into her mouth.

But he didn't move, still trying to figure everything out, to catch them both up on reality. "It's Babaanne," he tried to explain, "my grandma, they took her to hospital a few days ago but they couldn't find me and--" He felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest, leaping into his throat, cutting off his breath. Stepping a little closer, towards her warmth, he could hardly meet her eyes anymore. "...I'm sorry." For what had happened, for disappearing, for getting drunk, for bringing Eira into it--for everything.

Her dark brows quirked and then furrowed in concern when he began to explain. "Where is she? Do you need a ride to the hospital?", she asked, trying to cut through the fog of her exhaustion and his sadness to find out what she could actually do for him. "Can we go in the morning? It's late, and we need to get you inside and warmed up." As Kaan stepped closer, Eira looked up at him and raised her umbrella so it would cover them both, though it would do little to help him now as he was already soaked. She reached out with her empty hand and wiped some wetness from his cheek, though she wasn't sure if it was tears or the rain, or both.

--Except that apparently she wasn't a stranger. Or at least, he wasn't to her. Taken aback, he studied her face, trying to place it in his memory. Maybe she looked a little familiar. But she couldn't have worked with the gangs, right? Allies and rivals were the most important to remember. Had she been one of Zeynep's school friends? Her American accent seemed to rule that out. Had Emir or Doruk brought her home to meet the family? Bora thought he would have remembered that. "...Thanks," he said finally. "Remind me of your name?" If he had that, he thought maybe he could place her.

"Eira Blanchard.", she helpfully supplied with a nod. In case the name didn't do anything to jog his memory, she added, "We met at a bar a few years back and went back to your place." It was before she met Kaan, and while Bora had been adequate, from what she could recall, he'd been oddly silent, so perhaps he hadn't been impressed with her, either. He certainly hadn't called her afterwards.