James Connolly’s emotions were a variable that needed to constantly checked and accounted for. Measured. Controlled. He was well aware of the volatility of his powers, the snap his words carried when he allowed his temper to seep into them, poisoning his intentions as truly as any poison. It had been nearly a year since his first break, since his words had resulted in the death of his first true partner. Since he’d demanded his own life be ended… and all those around him had listened. His word was law, his will be done. In that moment he had been drunk on grief, on power, on pain. His emotions had burned bright, a wildfire that had sputtered out just as quickly as it had come. Now, he felt that fragility of his mood as surely as the wind that blew at his back, urging him on down winding french streets. Towards a cafe he’d never been to.
Each step resounded against the echoing thumps of his heartbeat, a reminder that he was making a mistake. A reminder that this was not him. That voice telling him to turn back, to think… it seemed so small against the screaming of his anger, of his betrayal. He had come to Paris to make amends with his brother, to repair his own broken self and begin the long process of rebuilding their family. What had he been met with? Disappointment. Disbelief. His brother thought no better of him now than he had expected a decade ago when they’d been little more than children. Perhaps he would always be a child in Jack’s eyes.
And doing this is going to change anything? That voice, oh so small, whispered in his ear. Perhaps not… but James ached to see pain in his brother’s eyes. Wanted his sibling to feel the same pain James had endured the past year. There are always consequences for one’s actions.
Le Haricot de Rêve was a quaint establishment that James would likely never have visited if not for having a purpose there. The cramped, small tables and faint aroma of coffee made James want to gag - much preferring the harsher scents of alcohol and cigarette smoke. Through it all, he plastered on a genuine smile and strode to the counter, eyes seeking out the gorgeous girl who could only be Adelaide Leroux. The girl Jack had a soft spot for, or so James was told.
“Hi uh… Could I please get a Latte? No sugars.” He said idly, playing the casual customer as he leaned tiredly on the counter. He was a lion hunting prey, moves languid and graceful. Unhurried. All the while, his unconscious magic radiated off him in waves in parallel to his roaring internal emotion. A table to his left vacated, the previous occupants likely thinking he needed a place to sit, hurrying to do his bidding without him even asking. Such was the terror of his emotion. Had he been in his right mind, the blind subservience would’ve disgusted him.
Today was never going to end. It was blatantly clear from the moment she arrived that it was going to be one of those days. The espresso machine was misfiring every other latte order; the coffee bean grinder wasn’t working; the GFS food order hadn’t come yet despite being scheduled for a 4 a.m. drop off. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and her bangs were pushed to the side; she had tossed a bandana around her head just because it looked cute. She had put in minimal effort this morning and it was showing. She was sweating, trying to recover from the busiest lunch hour the entire week, as she slid the towel across the top of the counter, broken coffee beans and frothy half foam sliding on to the floor. Her shoes were rubber, thankfully, and she side stepped the large puddle before tossing the towel back into the bucket at her feet.
The bell went off as the door was pushed open and she smiled, brushing her hands against her usually black, now slightly frosted, apron. As the man in front of her ordered, she nodded, keying in his request. “Latte…no sugar. Whole or skim milk? And regular, yeah?” Typically, if someone didn’t say decaf, they wanted full power espresso, but she was still in the habit of clarifying, just in case. She glanced up, her bangs falling into her face, and she was hit with the blood red pouring out of him from ever possible place on his body. She should have seen it even if she hadn’t been looking at him but she had been so consumed with the cleaning that she had somehow missed it. It was not a good color. On anyone. But especially not on someone leaning in so close to her.
“Ah, so…” she looked back to the POS screen, toying with the edge of her apron, “that’ll be $3.21…″ Strong, forward, not backing down. Whatever this man was feeling, she wanted no part of it. Hopefully, he would pay her, take his latte and leave. That was that. Done. Gone.
