i can feel the wind blowin'

“Organized and yet you let yourself run out of paper plates. For shame.” Evi retorts, shaking the envelope beside her ear as if she’ll be able to determine its contents from sound alone. Her eyes roll at his assertion, as they always do at that sort of thing, and she sighs. “Do I know it? I’m not so sure, sometimes the look on your face just screams philanthropy…” Her sarcastic babble dwindles out as she pulls the note from the envelope first. Trying to ignore the flushed feeling that creeps up her neck, Evi merely looks up after reading the note to give her present company a look of good natured ridicule, though it’s marked with a smile. One that vanishes immediately once she catches sight of the envelope’s other contents. “Heilige kak.” Blue eyes blink hard a few times to confirm what she’s seeing before Evi pulls the tickets out fully and deciphers the entire meaning. “The summer opening?” Her head snaps up quickly so she can look wide-eyed at the man across from her, trying to decipher from his expression if this is an elaborate prank. “Are you kidding, Jonas? Did you – did you sell your soul? I have been shut out of that website so many times – I – holy shit. I could kiss you.” And then, suddenly remembering Naomi’s comments from the day before, she makes an amendment: “I mean – not doing that. Definitely not going to assault you right now. I just – holy shit.” The last statement is nothing but a surprised exhale, Evi’s hand raking back through her hair despite its current updo as she looks back to the tickets. “I…” What is there to say? After a moment of thought, she just laughs. “Do you even like gardens? I just…” Their reality finally sinking in, Evi sets the tickets on the table and looks at him rightfully. “Even for a sponsor, this… this is a lot. I know how much these cost, even if you did not, in fact, sell your soul.” And yet she’s not so selfless as to try and turn them down. She bites her lip for a moment before trying her hand, her smile still coming unbidden all the while. “Any chance you’ll let me pay you back, at least? Before I drag you through hours of looking at begonias? Trust me, you’ll live to regret this.”

You just had to let her get it all out, be it snark or surprise, and it was a delight to watch regardless. Was it too much to hand cut paper for an envelope and whip out the calligraphy inks for the name on the front? Maybe, but she’d told him more than once he was the most extra person she knew and he might as well live up to that. Especially if it brought the kind of joy to her that he saw right now. “I’m gonna assume that’s a cuss word, darlin’. And no, shit, who’d want my soul? I’m an insomniac, I hopped on the site at 4am the morning they opened up ticket sales.” Jonas said, only to be damn near thrown flat by her next sentence. Could kiss him, huh? Oh. Oh dear. Saying something like that and looking so beautiful, so extravagantly happy in ways he’d never seen in the two years he’d known her, that was...a lot. He could feel the blush going to the tips of his ears and he looked away from her wide blue gaze for a moment to recover himself. Thankfully she threw him an opening by starting to tear herself down a little. He could work with that. “Evi, of course I like gardens. I just can’t manage ‘em myself, hence why you’re doin’ me such a favor working out back. I’m an alchemist more than anything else, for chrissakes! So you ain’t gonna bore me.” Jonas countered, nudging at her foot under the table with his own. This was better, this didn’t make his heart pound in his chest and send his thoughts cantering towards how beautiful she was and how smart, how much he wondered if he was a bad sponsor given he could tell that feelings were sneaking in around the cracks. Feelings he should stifle, but oh, the radiance of her smile! That was something else. Jonas snorted at her request and shook his head. “Hell no. Bad enough you talked me into lettin’ you pay for lunches and dinners from time to time.” He paused, then decided he might as well say what needed saying. “I’m real proud of you, Evi.”

Date: May 1st 2021 Time: 12:30 pm Location: The garden (in progress) behind the gallery

“I’m telling you, you interrupted a serious breakthrough.” Finally: a gloriously sunny day. Evi’s near-daily work in the garden began as soon as that sun rose, taking thorough advantage of the pleasant weather. She’d been in the midst of trying to coax a climbing clematis to bloom when Jonas had mentioned lunch, and though the convincing was looking more and more like a futile effort, she’ll chatter on about it. Since he threatened to pay her utilities if she kept giving him hell about paying for lunch, she’s got to seek out some new material. After a visit inside to the bathroom so she could thoroughly wash out the dirt from under her nails, Evi appears at the table, her unruly red hair now wrangled into a ponytail. “Oh? We broke out the real plates?” Her brows arch at the setup – legitimate, nothing like the takeout containers on laps that she’s grown accustomed to. “Uh oh. Is there some special occasion today that I forgot?” There’s a flicker of genuine concern over her expression as she contemplates having missed a birthday – but no. They’d just squabbled over zodiac signs the other day. That’s a relief. Evi’s line of questioning is cut off temporarily as she contemplates her food options, but when she lifts her plate to make good on that decision, more inquiries flare up. The plate is set aside with haste, gnawing hunger quickly forgotten as she takes the envelope on the table in both hands. It’s meant for her, the ornate script on the front indicates as much, but she doesn’t open it. Not yet. Instead, her gaze lifts below furrowed brows, trying to read the expression that Jonas presently wears. “What’s this?”

Getting sober was hell in every possible way, it was a long and bumpy road. So you needed things here and there to soften the blows, in Jonas’ humble opinion. For Evi he settled on monthly surprises every time she hit a milestone, given the fact that if he tried to do anything more frequently it would spark another competition to see who could outdo the other in kindnesses. The third month of sobriety wasn’t an easy one to reach, so he decided to be just as extra as she accused him of being. Tickets to the botanical garden the next city over weren’t easy to get and certainly not for their summer opening, so he had set an alarm for 3am to snag this particular pair. He was still thinking fondly of her possible reaction to the gift when she called him out on the fine china he had dragged out for lunch. Shit. “What? No, we had this discussion already. I’m a Libra and you said that’s why I’m so anal about keepin’ shit organized and...” Jonas sighed, shaking his head to brush away that old quarrel. “No, Evi. I’m outta paper plates and sometimes I feel fancy, that’s all.” She was too damned good at reading him sometimes, so it hardly served to try to mask the anticipation on his face as she picked up the envelope. A small smile formed on his lips around the time she started to stare him down and he laughed. “Open the damned envelope, darlin’. I’m not givin’ anything away and you know it. Just know it’s somethin’ I think you deserve and that I hope you’ll like.”

@tildaballantine​

“I mean, you gotta start small to start at all, Tilda. Nothin’ shabby about doing something basic when you’re getting your grip on a new thing.” Jonas said, flicking a switch by the back door that turned on the garden lights before he rolled outside. He realized belatedly that he sounded like one of those motivational pamphlets at the church where he held his AA meetings, then decided to let the thought go. Either Tilda would call him out on it and they’d have a nice laugh or she’d ignore it, but tonight was about her. There was a cardboard box full of odds and ends on his lap and he sat it on a low stone bench. The candles he arranged in an even line, the rest he sat aside. One hurdle at a time, he reminded himself. “I was drilled in this shit from the time I could talk in full sentences, that’s an unfair advantage over most. You’re smart, you’re capable as all hell, and I think you’ll do just fine.” Jonas rolled back towards the garden wall to give her some leeway, then flashed her a smile. In all honesty he had been surprised that she had been willing to let him tutor her in magic, but he’d take it as a compliment if nothing else. Naomi was one of his dearest friends, it only followed that he should try to cultivate a friendship with her partner too. “Don’t matter which candle you light either, okay?”

“Aw no, I’m paying market value for these. You aren’t gonna win on this one, Miss Sundara.” Jonas said, though he had absolutely no idea how you got a market value on something from another dimension. Probably no guides to that kind of thing, but she was low balling here and he wasn’t going to stand for it. He had even gotten out his glasses to study the brushwork of these pieces she had brought from home, remnants of a collection that didn’t fit her new house. They were exquisite and strange, two of his favorite things when it came to art (or people) and he definitely wasn’t going to take any of them for less than...well, a lot more money than he assumed she’d take. Whatever. They had time to discuss with the gallery closed early and her settled in a relatively comfortable chair as she looked through a catalog of his works that he had for sale, ostensibly to pick which she wanted to see in person so he could fetch them for her. “And this ain’t me doing what you were complaining about earlier. Me paying you properly for these pieces has nothing to do with ass kissing or thinking you’re as young as you look or feelin’ sorry for you on account of that.” He said, looking up from the smallest canvas at her with a far more serious look on his face than before. Jonas had more than a little bit of an idea how it felt to be constantly underestimated given his disability, it was in all honesty one of his biggest pet peeves. “Most of my pieces have some sort of magic worked into them. I dabble, y’know. Alchemy’s my specialty, but these are somethin’ else.” He paused, fingers ghosting along the edge of a gilded frame. “You’re sure you wanna sell these? Really sure?”

Date: May 9th, 2021 Location: Ground Up Cafe Time: 10 am Status: Open

Naomi thought a little ‘light reading’ before work may ease her peace of mind about this whole, ‘pregnancy,’ thing. For months she’s been mulling it over in her head, the idea of becoming pregnant with what would be her and Tilda’s second child. She likes the idea of having another child, even of being the biological mother of said child. But this fear has been looming over her family’s heads since her birth. And Naomi wonders if it’s even possible for that fear to go away. Starting with a baby book (or two) may help, she thinks, having checked out about seven different books on ‘being pregnant,’ from the local library. She flips through them now before work, eyes going wider and wider once she gets to the pages showing pictures of what her vagina will look like during birth. An hour in and Naomi finally breaks. “Oh, my god….Jesus Christ, it can stretch like that?!” The witch blinks, feeling a little light headed. “No. Nope, no. No, no, no, no, no,” Naomi grumbles loudly to herself, head shaking wildly. She’s being far too loud in such a crowded place, people have begun to stare, but goddammit, this woman’s vagina is being ripped in half on page 106! 

Being a chronic insomniac, Jonas had a quasi unhealthy relationship with coffee, but at this point in his life if that was all that he had to wrangle with chemically, he’d take it. So the baristas at Ground Up knew his order before he said it, what of it? Today he must have looked a tad rougher than usual because they gave him three shots of espresso instead of two and he sighed. That was what he got for rolling out of a restless bed to paint at 4am and...hey, was that Naomi? Naomi reading what he determined to be several books about pregnancy and wincing, which was odd. Suddenly his 10:30AM opening time for the gallery seemed less important than usual, and hell, she was one of his best friends. His hours of operation could kiss his ass when faced with this. “Mimi, you’re scarin’ the general public with those diagrams. Not me, but y’know...” Jonas shrugged at the people around them, then shot the most obvious a dirty look so harsh that they looked away again. He squeezed Naomi’s shoulder lightly as he rolled to the free side of the table, then plunked his coffee on a corner. “I’m assumin’ you aren’t checkin’ these out for fun, so do you wanna talk? You left a couple of pieces at the gallery I gotta bring over when you’re open, but y’know. Schedules. What’s on your mind, darlin’?”

It’d be easier if he led the way, Evi finds herself thinking with a degree of bitterness before catching herself in the thought. Easier to what? Turn tail and run? Then she’d have to own up to it, to Johanna, to Jonas. No, what seems to be just a polite inclination on his behalf in fact nudges her forward, not willing to turn and face him if she does in fact flee. The only other option is forward, then, and Evi walks through the church doors with a heaviness to her step. The room is empty of occupants save for a reassuringly unfamiliar woman who gives her a quick smile before continuing about setup. Though Evi doesn’t mirror the gesture, she doesn’t turn and flee either – and that’s something, isn’t it? “Most of them already know my name, I think.” She admits softly, quickly, her eyes darting. To the stained glass, to the hideous chairs, to anything but her present company. Especially when he mentions their last encounter, the memory making the hairs on her neck raise. Consequence had to come eventually, didn’t it? Maybe that’s part of why she’s here. A display. Look, I’m improving, she can only hope to say. Don’t turn me in to the cops. There’s another reason, though, one that’s mentioned with a shrug: “Jo encouraged me to come.” A common landing point, isn’t it, and easier to discuss than the matter at hand. Her angelic cousin at work again, thank God. Finally, it’s the mention of familiar pastries that turns her face toward him rather than just the back of a head of red hair. Feet wandering forward, too, to catch better sight. “Kak, one of my nannies used to make these –” She’s not sure where the hometown story comes from but she certainly knows what stops it in its tracks. The sight of familiar faces walking in the door has her wilting like a perennial after the first frost, back away from the table and toward the chairs. They’re no good, either. Surely people have their typical seats, and she’s – well, a disturbance, in more ways than one. How familiar. Too late to go back and get a pastry though she wishes she had one, if only to occupy her hands as she resigns herself to retreating into a corner. All the while, she draws her jacket tight around herself, unwilling to take it off just yet. The sight of the group’s fearless leader approaching once more only makes her shake her head. “I, ah, I can find somewhere else to get warm. Probably should, in fact. Probably best.”

They did, and he knew that even before they set foot in the building. How many people had he walked through the ins and outs of withdrawal, only to have them spin sideways into the abyss that was magical drugs? Too many, but he had known Evi tangentially for two years. Long enough to prod at the sharp edges of her broken glass armor, to see that the woman making these drugs wasn’t anywhere close to being evil, like some recovering addicts had said in their own anger. Jo asked her to come, but she wants to bolt, he can sense it in the tensing of her shoulders and that just won’t do. He nods to Sylvie who hands him a pastry wrapped in waxed paper on the sly as he rolls towards Evi. “Well darlin’, I can’t force you to stay the whole time, but d’you think that you can do me a little favor here? Just stay for the opening, and if you wanna leave after that? That’s alright, Evi. I’m just glad to see you again.” Jonas says, careful to say her name as Jo said it. Ehv-ee, ehv-ee, and he hands her the pastry to boot. “Just one speaker, okay?” Almost unwillingly, she sits in the chair that he points out and Jonas smiles at her before rolling into the middle of the circle. One speaker, and he’s always the first when they have someone new. She counts as someone new, no matter the way that some of them look at her. It eases off though once he’s within sight, and he’s glad of it. Glad of a lot of things. “Afternoon, everybody. Now some of you are gonna groan because you’ve heard my story a hundred times over, but it’s tradition when we have guests, so...” A warm smile, a deep breath, and he locks the wheels of his chair before starting. “My name is Jonas Sidney Davenport. I’m forty years old, and I’m an alcoholic. I’ve been sober...” His eyes roll back a little as he counts in his head, then he comes back with a figure. “Nineteen years, ten months, three days. My family’s old blood Southern, you don’t talk about your emotions. Don’t deal with ‘em, just bury them in drink and bad decisions. So it was a real disappointment to my parents that I struggled, that I was walkin’ around with a wicked case of depression and less decorum than expected. Well, I was never what they wanted. An artist, a depressed teenager who’d gotten in trouble more for bein’ softhearted than anything else? That ain’t Davenport material, I’ll tell you what.” It still stung, dragging this old laundry out to be hung on a line. Stung, but didn’t bleed, and that was all you could ask of a wound that deep. He glanced at Evi, beautiful and antsy, but still sitting there like he’d practically begged her to be. Good, very good. “So I did what everyone else in my family did instead of therapy: I drank. Drank from age thirteen to age twenty, stole from liquor cabinets at home, and god help me, drank worse than everyone else in my family. When I was twenty years old, I drove my ass home in a snowstorm for winter break from college. Drunk. When they tested me hours later, once I was stable, my blood alcohol was .2.” A low whistle came from the group and he nodded. A fair reaction. Evi seemed surprised, but he wasn’t sure what else she could be in this situation. Surprised was better than dismissive, and she was still here, wasn’t she? “Car was demolished, of course. Didn’t matter as much as what else was damaged, but some of you can guess. Crunched some vertebrae, damaged my spinal cord in ways even magic can’t fix. You’d think that’d be a cutoff point, you think lyin’ there that this is it. Your whole damned life is over. But it isn’t. I’ll be frank with y’all, the detox was worse than any of the nerve pain.” Jonas put his hands on the wheels of his chair, smacking them lightly by way of emphasis. “But as you’ve noticed, I’m still here. Here and sober, which is...hell, it’s better than any feeling I got chasin’ my sorrows with bourbon. It’s a long road, it’s hard as hell, some of you know that already. But oh, the beauty you find on the other side? That’s the greatest thing you can imagine. Just gotta take that step, and in this group, you ain’t takin’ it alone. Thank you kindly for listenin’, I believe it’s Sylvie’s turn so...” Jonas flashed another smile, then rolled over to the empty spot beside Evi’s chair, trying and failing not to have an expectant look on his face. It wasn’t an easy story to hear, nor one she probably expected. So he wondered just what she made of it, of him, and well...he’d wait for her to speak.

She’s always hated the cold. What she hates more, however, is the sensation of prying eyes. Even worse is the feeling of those heavy words – I’m an addict – on her lips, recited toward her reflection as if that’d make it easier to swallow. Feels like a victory on her family’s part, anyway, the admitting of it. They’d always been generous in the telling of her flaws. This just feels like joining their ranks. Besides, why do they have to recite it aloud, anyway? Like it’s some exclusive club. Like she’s a Girl Scout, raising three fingers in a pledge. Evi’s stewing in the stupidity of it all as she stands rooted to her spot across the street, arms crossed from both the cold and her disdain for this meeting she’d somehow decided to drag herself to. Well, she’s not there entirely, considering she’s still lollygagging on this side of the street. Plus it wasn’t wholly her decision. It’d been suggested gently by her cousin, in fact. You know, Jonas runs the local support group… She had known that, of course, thanks to the delightful gallery run-in. Which is why she curses under her breath when she inevitably sees him outside. Draws her long green coat tighter around herself, too, as if to blend into the flowerbed behind her. But he sees her, of course, and smiles, which is more surprising. Her mother had done that before a public scolding, too, so she’s not entirely reassured, not even when he keeps his distance and keeps on smiling. “Um, it’s fine.” As if the skin of her hands isn’t steadily turning pink, lips chapping by the second. As if she’s just going to keep standing here. Right. Those same cold hands tuck into her pockets, her gaze darting to the sandwich board, to the church itself, to anywhere but her present company. It’s the later part of his offer that makes her bristled stature soften somewhat, surprise flickering across her face, quickly masked. “I assumed talking was the point. Guess I stand corrected.” A foot taps, clad in some stupid canvas shoe that feels far too thin against the air. Properly cold from fingers to toes, Evi sighs heavily, a hand raking back through wind-ruffled hair. “Tea would be nice.” And that’s all there is to it. Except when she moves forward then hesitates a beat, simply giving a nod. Not like she needs to be led, thanks to the sign, but it is his group, after all. “Um… after you.”

You get a lot of reluctant people at the meetings, slipping towards the front of the church and into the shadows. Facing your own demons took courage, took more than most people had hidden away, and it was a slow process. Baby steps. With Evi specifically, he sensed that those steps needed to be as small as possible, and yet he was surprised that she was willing to come inside. Pleasantly. “Is and it isn’t, darlin’. Everybody’s journey’s different. Even if you ain’t here thinkin’ of taking one, I can’t conscience lettin’ you stay out here to freeze.” Jonas replied, letting Evi lead the way instead. He did flick the door open by magic though, out of chivalrous habit. No one but Sylvie was here yet, which was just as well. The chairs were set out and Sylvie was setting up the coffee, the tea, then the water for those who didn’t like the other two. All the pseudo Victorian chairs were sat in a circle, all identical and all ugly as hell, but you took what you could get. “Don’t even have to tell anybody your name if you don’t want, y’know. Some of us do that, ‘till we’re more comfortable. Just nice to see you after the uh...” Jonas looked uncomfortable to the point it was even obvious to Sylvie, who raised an eyebrow at him offering the chair next to his assigned space to Evi. Not bad uncomfortable, just uncomfortable. Ill at ease. Well aware he had probably fucked up her business with his group and his nosiness. “Last time, yeah. Sylvie’s got some pastry things she made that I can’t remember the name of.” A snort came from behind him and Jonas turned to look at his co-leader. “Koeksisters, you swine.” He nodded, blushing slightly, then gestured at the table for Evi to see what was being laid out for the taking. “You’re welcome to as many as you’d like. And good mornin’!’ Jonas called, more to the people filing into the room than to Evi. He smiled at her, hoping she wouldn’t bolt at the sight of them. So far, so good.

@evikoning​

They had an open door policy to the meetings, he had been adamant about that from the start regardless of what the church elders thought. He paid them a little extra for their trouble and that objection had mostly smoothed over by now. By now he had his routine down to a science every Sunday. He didn’t go to temple anymore, but by mid morning he had showered, shaved, and generally spiffed up into his closest approximation of business casual. By half an hour before the meeting he wheeled outside and put out the sandwich board sign, which was what he had been doing when he saw a flash of red hair just across the street. Staring, looking more than a little lost, but he knew from their acquaintance and from her cousin that she hated when anyone made a scene. So he sat down his sign as usual, fussed with it until it seemed right, and only then did he turn in Evi’s direction. Jonas smiled, he didn’t wave. She looked like she wanted to crawl into the earth, so he figured it was best not to be too damned obvious. Yet. “Pretty cold out here for standin’, Evi darlin’.” Jonas drawled as he crossed the street, careful to stop a solid two yards away from her. Just as careful as he was to say her name like Jo said it. Ehv-ee, not the crass American way. Whatever brownie points he could win at this point, that was what he was after. “I’ve got coffee inside, tea. Lucy was stress bakin’, we’ve got all kinds of nonsense on the table. You’d be welcome to come and uh...not talk. Wouldn’t expect you to want to do that, but bein’ warm? Maybe.”

@jonasdavenports​

“All mine, ‘cept the jewelry. That’s done by Miss Naomi Clover, the one who’s shop was burned down a while back? Had an corner sittin’ over there unused, so she’s got it for now.” Jonas explained, grinning despite himself at the jibe about secondhand cheese. If he was a tight ass like his mother, he’d be offended or at least a little miffed. But as is? Cheese was fucking cheese. Give people a chance to lie, huh. Now that was interesting. That was homebrewed cynicism if he had ever heard such a thing, and considering his history, well…Jonas snorted at the question. “Well darlin’, unless my legs start workin’ again, I’m bound to come your way every time I run outta that nerve damage tonic. And if I knew I’d be tanglin’ with Irene Adler in a blazer I’d have prepared. I’m am artist , of course it’s a necessa-” An incautious guest, perhaps one that had been doctoring the drinks with something from a flask, knocked into Evi and sent her purse flying to the ground. Most of what was lying on the concrete floor was innocuous. Makeup, a pill case, a wallet, but several brightly colored packages he had seen a few times before hit the ground too and those? Well, those were unexpected to say the least. Before she could snatch them all up, he grabbed one and held it just high enough for them both to see. “Here’s somethin’ for your brain spreadsheet then, darlin’. I’m a recovering alcoholic, I chair the Narcotics and Alcoholics Anonymous group in town. And I’ve seen these damned things before, helpin’ one of my people dry out.” A look of steely disappointment crossed his face and he sighed. “The rest of it they got past, but these things? Took a year. Suppose it’s good to know where they’re comin’ from, but Miss Koning? You’re too good for the likes of this shit. Too smart, too talented.”

Not as if she hasn’t acquainted herself with potential worse case scenarios. Granted, this isn’t the worst: he could be a cop. Or a detective. Or her mother. But, really, this is far from ideal. The head of the NA and AA? First and foremost, this town is too small. Second: fok. Her snatching hand helps nothing, and Evi can practically hear her teeth grinding together as her jaw clenches tight. Not her first time getting caught, but first in a while, and her poker face has gotten soft with time. But not nonexistent. She finds it somewhere at least partially intact and applies it as she shoves lipstick and packages alike back into the purse they’d only just been joking about. How quickly the tone can change. “Even worse than analyzing your customers is making assumptions about them.” What sort of assumptions? That she’s the maker? Or smart, or, somehow, talented? All of the above, probably, but she’s hardly gong to stick around and clarify. “Let’s not pretend we know each other, Mr. Davenport.” Kak, maybe she sounds like her mother. Now that’s really something. Yet it’s not nauseating enough to be something she stops, her own smile tight, ice cold, crafted by carefully lined lips. Her gaze drifts around the gallery once more, but she’s hardly seeing a bit of the art. No, the exit is behind her, but she needs to know there are no more watchful eyes on her. Once that is confirmed, Evi pins her purse tight to her side and gives a tighter nod. “Best of luck with your sale.” And with that she makes her careful exit, doing her best to forget the stinging sensation of the knowledge that someone was completely disappointed in her. 

It was very like Jonas to get himself into mischief and not tell her anything about it. In truth, she doesn’t expect him to tell her anything, they have hardly known each other long enough to warrant being part of the process when it comes to emergencies, but nearly two days later? Oh, Jo could take offense at that, or she would when she got over the surprise of seeing it. “Is this why I couldn’t get a hold of you after the festival?” she asked in little more than a murmur, fighting back the urge to chew on her lip and instead just staring at him.  Injured, and no doubt it was her fault, because she had been the one with the brilliant idea of asking him to come to the festival and then left him a quarter of the way through. Her eyes narrowed on him, toying with a response and then tossing it out as unsuitable for the situation. She was well-aware that her face was betraying nothing, and doing little to help, so she finally said: “Is this why you don’t usually attend these things, because they end up being a disaster? What happened?” It was worse than any event she held back in Pretoria, but she doesn’t mention this, deciding such things were better off left in her own head and not where they could bother her family. Her hands on her hips, frowning. “I am sure it doesn’t, they have excellent healers in this town, but it hardly makes things better. You are in a cast, Jonas, you should not have let me talk you into that.”

“I uh. Well. Kinda. Part of it was my phone got smashed to hell when the chair flipped, but I coulda called from my spare.” His spare was a sturdy, but elderly flip phone that he had been stuck with until the shop opened on Monday. Theoretically he could but honestly he stopped memorizing cell phone numbers around the time that they were saved in his long series of smartphones. A sigh escaped his lips the more that Joey went on; he smelled guilt over something outside of her control and that would never do. He rolled over to her and reached for a free hand, giving it a quick squeeze and tried his best attempt at puppy eyes as he looked up at her. “Now Joey, did you go on a stampede and knock some poor guy in a wheelchair to the ground? I don’t think so. And yeah, you convinced me to come down, but that don’t mean it’s your fault.” Jonas rolled back slightly, then held out his broken ankle by way of visual aid. “I can’t feel the damned thing either, so don’t go fussin’ over any pain you think you’ve caused me.” He nodded towards her, the better to change the subject. His injuries were boring in comparison and he hadn’t heard from her either. It was such a damned mess out there that something could have happened to her too. “C’mon, lemme make you tea or coffee or somethin’. How’d you make out? You look alright, but are you really?”

“Oh, it’s still expensive. I’m just unwilling to part with it. Not for sale – unlike the artwork. Is this all yours?” She does her best not to sound impressed. Merely curious, which is true. Even if she’s no artist herself, and vaguely envious of people with that sort of talent. That sort of thing is easy to profit off of, isn’t it? No risk there, and the crowds fall at your feet. Or so it seems, anyway. “You mean to tell me it’s secondhand cheese? Well, if it’s not hand-picked, I’m not interested.” Difficult is her middle name, her mother had chided her more than once. What can she say? She usually makes good on a promise. Eyes are probing her – never the sort of thing she’s been fond of, so Evi turns in order to observe a portrait she’s already looked at. Twice. Arguably, she should be putting her focus on this artist friend of her cousin’s, but that was significantly easier when he was paying no mind to her. Now, the witch huffs a sigh, hands tucking into the pockets of her blazer. “Asking usually isn’t as fun, and besides, why give people the chance to lie?” Says the liar, perhaps, but she’ll be damned if she confesses to that any time soon. “I wanted a night out on the town, anyway. Can only spend so many hours hunched over plants. If I recall correctly, you’re due into the shop sometime soon. Your usual order, I suspect?” These damn heels are digging into her feet, so Evi makes a move to lean against the nearby wall, hoping her dignity stays intact. “Nope. No spreadsheet. Keep it all up here.” She taps a temple with a challenging shrug, sipping her drink. “Jo would confront me about keeping stock, and anyway, I don’t need people prying into my precious intel.” That’s for sure. “How about you, then?” She gestures back towards the gallery. “Do you like having this many people in your space? Or just a necessary evil?” 

“All mine, ‘cept the jewelry. That’s done by Miss Naomi Clover, the one who’s shop was burned down a while back? Had an corner sittin’ over there unused, so she’s got it for now.” Jonas explained, grinning despite himself at the jibe about secondhand cheese. If he was a tight ass like his mother, he’d be offended or at least a little miffed. But as is? Cheese was fucking cheese. Give people a chance to lie, huh. Now that was interesting. That was homebrewed cynicism if he had ever heard such a thing, and considering his history, well...Jonas snorted at the question. “Well darlin’, unless my legs start workin’ again, I’m bound to come your way every time I run outta that nerve damage tonic. And if I knew I’d be tanglin’ with Irene Adler in a blazer I’d have prepared. I’m am artist , of course it’s a necessa-” An incautious guest, perhaps one that had been doctoring the drinks with something from a flask, knocked into Evi and sent her purse flying to the ground. Most of what was lying on the concrete floor was innocuous. Makeup, a pill case, a wallet, but several brightly colored packages he had seen a few times before hit the ground too and those? Well, those were unexpected to say the least. Before she could snatch them all up, he grabbed one and held it just high enough for them both to see. “Here’s somethin’ for your brain spreadsheet then, darlin’. I’m a recovering alcoholic, I chair the Narcotics and Alcoholics Anonymous group in town. And I’ve seen these damned things before, helpin’ one of my people dry out.” A look of steely disappointment crossed his face and he sighed. “The rest of it they got past, but these things? Took a year. Suppose it’s good to know where they’re comin’ from, but Miss Koning? You’re too good for the likes of this shit. Too smart, too talented.”

So he’s monologuing. Evi allows it with a mere raise of her eyebrow, taking a careful sip of the sparkling water she’d been offered. This one man question and answer session can continue itself. It’s almost amusing. “I actually brought a separate bag for the cheese. This was an expensive purse.” She shrugs, then lets her gaze wander across a few of the paintings before she continues her own analysis. “You’re bad at handling turned tables.” After all, she’s been the vendor and he the customer plenty of times. But now with the role reversal, he seems almost on edge. “Is it me, or just the general masses? Because while they do tell you to analyze your customer, I think the rule of thumb is to not do it out loud.” Another sip of her drink before her addition: “Besides, you’re not great. I would be a god awful hitman. And am very much not in need of a date, so.” Finally she exhales, through with the attempt at bantering. “Maybe I’m a regular art connoisseur. You don’t know.” Okay, now she’s done. “The advertisements caught my eye. Plus I thought I’d scope out the artist. My cousin was going on about you and your unfortunate interaction at the festival. Broken ankles and all. She’s the guilty type. As for me… guess I just want to make sure she’s made decent friends.” Blue eyes squint, red-painted lips pursing. “Currently undecided, just so you know.”

“Do I gotta be good at it? There’s a reason I’m only wheeled out for special occasions.” Jonas retorted, grinning at her despite himself. “I like the past tense there, makes me wonder if there’s a story about why it’s not expensive anymore. As for the cheese...” Jonas glances back at the hors d’oeuvres table, then back at Evi Koning. He shrugs off the jibe and the very idea that he’d care if she stole the cheese. “Just paid for it, didn’t pick it out. Failed Cheese Appreciation 101 in my quest to embarrass my fine family. So you’re welcome to steal anything you’d like off there.” From what Jo had told him, Evi was another survivor of the Fine Witching Family Outcast Society. They had had little conversation past the transactional sort, but he got the feeling that was intentional. A hunch, from one damaged person to another. But who knew? Maybe they should talk about something more than bare bullshit and the potions she made for nerve damage. Joey was snarky enough on her own, but Evi? Evi seemed to be all broken glass and barbed wire verbally and he half wondered what lay beneath that. “Decent friends, huh? Well now, that depends on who you’re askin’. You ask back home in Savannah and they’ll warn you off that disgrace of the Davenport clan. You ask here, might be different. But something tells me you don’t ask, you dig your fingers into the dirt and look for yourself.” She also seemed disappointed at the lack of alcohol, but that’s to be expected. Not his problem. “You got a spreadsheet?”

@evikoning​

You got a feel early on in the night for who was at the showing to buy, who was there for free food, and who had a purpose all their own. If you were lucky you could winkle that out of them, but nine times out of ten Jonas didn’t want to expend that kind of effort on a stranger. Well, not a stranger that had an ulterior motive that wasn’t admiring or spending money on art. Maybe she was disappointed he didn’t allow alcohol at his showings, maybe she didn’t like the cheese, maybe...hell, maybe he should actually talk to this woman spending more time staring at him than the walls. She was standing over by one of his newer pieces and only raised a brow when he approached. Alright, so he had to bite the bait without anything to go on. Fine. “Normally, I gotta walk around makin’ sure nobody shoves all the cheese in their purse or gets their paws on the jewelry display. Somehow you don’t seem the type, but...” Jonas said, locking his wheels just across from the red haired woman. “I can’t figure what you’re here for either. Not art, not schmoozin’, so what’s your poison here? I hope you aren’t lookin’ for a date or anything. Did somebody put a hit on my sorry ass? Doesn’t seem likely, but my family hates me, so...”