e. salomon / tailor.

“I DON’T KNOW THAT I BELIEVE IN LOVE,” Jensen mused as she watched her son nap on the seat beside her, “It’s really just a chemical reaction: Dopamine, Serotonin, Oxytocin.” She shrugged lightly and smiled, “The same chemical compounds can be found in chocolate,” she looked at her friend and teased, “And chocolate never broke my heart. Chocolate is loyal.”

Slowly  but  surely  had  warmth  then  replaced  the  bone-crushing  tension  that  had  laid  in  the  air.  He,  too,  had  wondered  where  she  had  been  --  but  decided  then  that  when  it  was  time  to  talk  about,  Mera  would  initiate  the  conversation  herself.  Now,  it’s  her  home  as  much  as  it  is  his.  It’s  just  big  enough  for  her  and  her  daughter  to  have  a  room  of  their  own.  The  reason  why  it’s  empty,  he  doesn’t  elaborate  on.  But  it  used  to  belong  to  someone  and  that  someone  he  used  to  be  in  love  with.

                      ❛ &. ┊ A  grin  stretches  from  one  ear  to  ear  when  Mera  throws  herself  onto  the  counter  and  looks  curiously  over  his  shoulder.  “  I  hope  you  can  take  spicy,  Mim.  Because  I’m  not  planning  on  going  easy  on  the  peppers.  ”

‘ I don’t sing. ’ he follows the noise of clattering bowls and spoons, saga already preparing their ice-cream date full force. words were spoken over his shoulder, eyes briefly locking with ephraim’s, aware of the grin that briefly flashes along his lips. ‘ yeah you don’t want to hear isaiah sing. ’ saga chimes in, giggling, he’s about to retort something when she continues ‘ but he plays the piano beautifully. I bet caspian would like that. ’ that he can live with ‘ tell you what ephraim—- ’ he easily slides into one of the chairs saga had placed a bowl in front of ( she’d sit between them, ephraim across from isaiah) ‘ should caspian wake, I’ll play the piano and you can sing him back to sleep. ’

from the looks of it, saga had pulled every flavour of ice cream they had in their freezer out. he’s quite impressed with the assortment she presents, considering mera and her terrible terrible sweet-tooth; he’s surprised they even have a pint, to begin with. meanwhile, his godchild dashes still about the room, adding whipped cream, sprinkles and chocolate sauce to the ever-growing pile on the table in front of them, eventually though, she settles, sitting down beside him, leaving ephraim — as predicted, the spot across from isaiah.

‘ got a favourite ice cream? ’ the question is directed at ephraim, but it’s saga who responds ( first ). ‘ mint-chocolate-chip, duh! ’ yeah, this one was through and through mera. here was to hoping caspian wouldn’t be as much of a little shit like his sister and mother were. ‘ I’m surprised it’s not cotton candy. ’ saga freezes, spoon in mid air between the pint of mint-chocolate chip ice cream and her own bowl ‘ they make cotton candy ice cream??!!! ’ oh fuck moa’d kill him for that one. ‘ and you ephraim? ’ a grin tugs on his lips ‘ you strike me as the vanilla kind of guy—- or do you like a little more flavour than plain old vanilla? ’

                ❛ &. ┊     “  The  piano?  ”  comes  it  echoed.  “  It’s  been  a  while  since  I’ve  heard  someone play.  ”  Beside  Moa  who,  when  her  wife  is  already headed  out  to  work  and  he  himself gets  Saga  dressed and  carries  Caspian on  his  back  to  let  him  get  a  breeze of  fresh  air  while  he  accompanies  the  little  redhead on  her  way  to  kindergarten, gets  comfortable  on  a  stool  and  ghosts  fingertips across  the  keyboard as  though  naught else  could  settle a  mind  the  same  way  as  playing a  composition  of  Schumann.  But  alas,  he  compared  neither himself  nor  anyone else  to  the  phenomenon  that  was  Moa  Zhao  --  it  wouldn’t  be  fair  if  one  viewed the  competition  from  an  objective viewpoint.  And  it  brought  nothing, either;  comparing  oneself to  another  was  only  useful when  it  led  to  improvement.  Comparing oneself  to  a  thousand  year  old  woman  was,  ultimately, chasing  for  the  impossible.

And  yet... rise  brows  nonetheless when  he  imagines  the  proposed scenario.  Isaiah  seated at  the  ebony-coloured  grand  piano  in  front  of  a  breathtaking view  behind  wind  chimes-decorated  windows, him  seated  at  his  side  with  little Caspian  in  his  arms,  dozing off  in  the  warm  embrace  of  clear  melodies  escaping from  the  tuning pins,  melting  into  a  soft-sung voice.  It  takes  little  for  a  head  to  shake  subtly  in  hopes  of  diminishing  the  recurring redness  of  cheeks --  but  is  he  lucky  and  Saga  pushes  a  heaping  bowl  of  ice  cream  in  his  direction and  thus,  ultimately, answers  Isaiah’s  loaded question.  “  I  don’t  think  I  know  anyone whose  favourite  ice-cream is  vanilla.  ”  Saga  grins  in  approval, but  doesn’t  understand the  innuendo  --  thankfully so.  The  least  he  needs  is  her  telling  Moa  about  how  weird  he  gets  in  the  presence of  Isaiah.  But  considering  the  fortunate  set-up,  he’s  almost  sure  both  women  are  aware  of  that.  A  spoon  is  dug  right  into  the  pile  and  he  scoops  up  a  large  portion  as  if  to  show  the  content, “  I’m  a  cookie  dough  and  chocolate chip  kind  of  guy.  I  like  it  chunky.  ”

isaiah realizes mera has set him up the moment ephraim opens the door instead of his friend ( or her wife ). that bitch! he doesn’t voice it aloud, not while saga stands beside him, munching happily on the popcorn she didn’t manage to eat during the movie. he’s sure his face betrays him though, shows what he is thinking, if only for a split second. ‘ ephraim, right? ’ he remembers, catching himself, a charming smile on his lips. ‘ I had no idea they’d go out when I picked up saga for our biweekly movie and ice-cream date. ’ he wonders if ephraim realizes too, what mera and probably moa too were after here. he’s not complaining though, he liked the tailor and mera’d probably realized that. ‘ we haven’t had our ice creamy yet. ’ saga reminds him, a wicked grin that is all mera on his lips. he doubted the fourteen years old was in on it all, but he isn’t surprised that she played her part. ‘ we’ve got tons of good ice cream in the freezer! ’ she dashes off not even waiting for his response. ‘ want one too, uncle eph? ’

eyes follow the wild red mane as it disappears around the corner before he looks up at ephraim again, the smile still on his lips. ‘ looks like you will be joining us for our ice-cream date. ’ he moves past him and into the zhao home. ‘ is caspian awake? ’

↳ plotted starter for @salomonshemd ♡

                    ❛ &. ┊     He  expects  no  visitor,  assumes shortly  before  opening the  door  that  Saga  must  have  snuck  onto  his  phone  and  ordered  a  pizza  against her  mothers’  wishes (  and  his  utmost  dedication  to  warming  up  the  dinner that  the  older  of  both  women  has  prepared  few  hours  ago  )  --  but  expects he  even  less  that the  silhouette  that  emerges  from  the  hallway to  be  Isaiah’s and  dawns upon him  the  same  realisation  that  must  have  struck  the  other  in  the  very  same  moment. Brows  rise  in  surprise,  colour skin  a  little redder  than  he  would  have  liked  but  can  he  conceal  the  change  of  hue  when  eyes  give  the  young  teenager  a  warning stare.  “  Saga,  ”  but run  words  empty  and  she  slips  through the  far  too  high barrier of  his  arm,  knows  that  if  she  waits  any  longer  he  might  oppose  the idea  after  already having  had  caramelised popcorn.  “  You’re  not  gonna  get  the  entire pint,  Saga!  ”  he  shouts over  his  shoulder but  that,  too,  is  ignored.  One  last  “  I’m  taking  the  vanilla  ice  cream  Moa’s  bought!  ”  and eyes  cast  their  gaze  back  onto  the  smug features of  his  counterpart, just  in  time  for  him  to  invite himself  inside.

for a split second she fears that she had said something she shouldn’t have, that she’s revealed  too much, it forces her to halter in her movements, if only for a moment. ‘ she told me quite a bit, yes. ’ not all, she is fully aware of that, but she doesn’t mind, they had time for all that later. ‘ just like I told her, that I am not entirely human. ’ that’s one way to put it, one way to confuse him more than anything and so she decides to humour him, flicks her wrist to have the water dance through the air before it dutifully and without a single splash winds up in the coffee machine. easy little games, she could do so much more than that. moa knew, she’d showed her, perhaps in due time he would too, one way or another. 

‘ forty-five years. ’ she echoes, impression clear on her features, there is a hint of jealousy too, he knew her so much longer than mera did, no doubt knew her in a lot of different ways too, not that she could change that right now, not that it truly bothered her, but still, a slight pout wanders onto her lips. something told her he wouldn’t share too many anecdotes of the past he had with the woman she caught herself falling for more and more every day. 

a switch is flicked and the coffee machine whirrs to life. ‘ so that makes youfamily. ’ hands flat against the surface of the counter behind her, she hoists herself up until she sits, comfortably, bare feet dangling over the edge. she studies him again, ponders for a beat if she should inquire further but she decides to leave that for another time. a smile stretches across her lips instead, the pout gone ( she still mourns the fact that she and moa had seemingly just met; in the eternity the other woman lived mera’s time with her was just the blink of an eye ) ‘ does that mean you get to give me your seal-of-approval? ’ it’s a joke, it’s something she had caught on surface-dwellers tended to do, meeting friends and family, deciding if the relationship was truly worth their while. she doubted moa needed anything like it. moa struck her as someone who had come to do as she pleased, not necessarily always caring about consequences of any kind. the number of times she’d broken the law ( more or less willingly ) for mera did align with that assumption at least. 

‘ ya—- ’ a shake of her head ‘ how can she ruin something perfectly beautiful like red-velvet with beet-juice ’ her nose wrinkles in something like disdain. she liked the cupcakes still, though. it warms her heart, her skin too, she feels the flush raising into her cheeks, to think that moa has shared such moments with him. ‘ it’s less the sunrise I enjoy so much with her, it’s more the way the first golden rays illuminate her skin—- ’ she catches herself here, realizes she is rambling in a sense, the flush turns darker and she bites her bottom lip to keep from saying anything more. it isn’t often, that she gets to talk about moa like that. the coffee maker saves her, stops and has her hopping off the counter to pull two mugs from the cabinet above and pour them one each. ‘ she’s—- ’ one of the mugs is pushed over the island towards him, milk and sugar placed somewhere between them ‘ -—everything. ’ and so much more ‘ sometimes I’m worried, that I’ll find a way to screw it all up. ’

                    ❛ &. ┊     It  should  surprise him  less  than  it  does  when  droplets of  water  hover  in  the  air  like  compressed  mist,  force  caramel  eyes  to  widen  even  if  composure  is  largely  kept  sane,  and  he  is  pulled  back  into  the  bone-crushing  realisation  that  life  is  more  than  human  eyes  might  capture. Moa  Zhao  surrounds herself  with  anything but  ordinary  people, albeit  all  more  than  capable of  mimicking  mundanity.  He  remembers  the  first  night  after  uniform-clad shoulders  blocked  a  bullet  that  would  have  hit  his  left  lung  otherwise,  the  fright  in  his  eyes  when  slender frame  peeled  off  fabric  in  the  dimly  lit  space  of  an  emptied  and  run-down  apartment on  the  borders of  the  Warsaw ghetto.  The  impeccable skin  underneath, the  discomfort  in  entirely  black  eyes.  Are  you  going  to  kill  me?  It  sounds  so  irrational  now,  he  thinks, to  ask  his  saviour  whether or  not  she  planned  on  doing  him  any  harm  --  but  then,  juvenile  frame  shaking  in  the  cold  breeze  that  entered  through a  broken  window’s cracks,  he  hadn’t known  what  else  to  say.

Time  has  changed  since  then;  the  features  on  his  face  show  surprise, astonishment,  but  he  no  longer  fears  the  unknown. If  anything,  he  has  begun  to  think  that  the  unknown  is  preferable  to  the  known, human  enemy. The  beast  that  tears  through his  flesh  in  a  hunger-crazed attack  does  it  to  survive --  the  man  who  burns  a  cross  into  the  flesh  of  a  neck,  still  visible when  he  bends  his  neck  forward  and  exposes  the  skin  that  hides  underneath a  high  collar, follows  a  sickening ideology.

Eyes  remain on  the  shape  of  a  coffee  machine momentarily,  thoughts  dragged elsewhere  until  the  onset  of  Mera’s voice  brings  him  back  into  the  heat  of  the  moment.  A  laugh  lingers in  the  back  of  a  throat,  waits  a  little longer  while  grin  spreads  from  one  ear  to  another. “  Family,  ”  he  repeats,  voice  harbouring  the  same  elation  that  would  have  followed  a  compliment,  “  I  suppose we  might  be.  I  wouldn’t oppose  the  idea  whatsoever.  ”  What  he  means  to  say  but  doesn’t  verbatim,  is  that  he  does  indeed anticipate  a  future inclusive  of  her  presence.  She  is  right,  of  course,  how  could  she  not  be  --  but  would  it  be  too  simple  to  merely  say  that  Moa  does  whatever Moa  wants.  Ephraim  Salomon has  seen  the  worst  and  the  best  of  Moa  Zhao  and  even  at  her  worst, refused  she  to  use  up  a  life  that  wasn’t her  own.  And  when  she  sat  down  for  the  first  time  to  mention  Y’Mera Xebella  Challa’s  name,  knew  he  that  there  was  something different  about  the  way  she  held  her  posture. Moa  Zhao  who  knew  humankind, who  had  gotten to  know  humankind over  nearly  a  dozen  centuries,  knew  not  how  to  interpret the  game  that  Mera  played.

she decides she wants to keep him for a moment longer, decides so on a whim when she realizes he could tell her a thing or two she didn’t know about moa, a funny little anecdote or something like that. ‘ where are my manners—- ’ a smile, she claps her hands in front of herself. yeah, talk about manners after picking his pockets. ‘ do you want something to drink? coffee? tea? water? ’ she looks around, taps her index finger against her chin ‘ I’ve got wine too, or something stronger if you’d like? ’ she offers him her most charming, most inviting smile. ‘ I feel like I owe you that at least, after having a coffee with moa on you. ’ the smile morphs into a grin, if only briefly so ‘ don’t tell her that please ’ 

the picture lands on her nearby countertop for now, as she steps further into her flat, inviting him to follow her. ‘ how long did you live with her? ’ she questions casually, stepping into the kitchen, indicating that she won’t accept a no to her offer, and if he took a coffee to go—- ‘ with moa I mean. ’ she adds after a beat, the why they lived together in the first place burning on her tongue. there isn’t much she knows about moa, despite the rather big secret that has already been revealed, but she likes it like that, likes still and constantly learning new things and tidbits about moa, sure one might think after playing catch me if you can for quite some time and five months of a serious relationship, she’d know moa’s favourite dish, would know her favourite song or what she had been up to in the past, but they spend their times differently, getting to know each other slowly. they were in no rush, they had time, and with moa and her age, with all that she’d lived through, there was quite a lot they could talk about or learn about each other. 

another question burns under her nails, and drips from her tongue before she can stop herself, but god she is curious needs to know, wants to know. she’s timidly, almost shy when she asks ‘ what else did she tell you about me? ’ do you think she cares about me as much as I do about her? 

                    ❛ &. ┊   “ Tit for a tat, I’ll take the coffee. ” And he takes it as an invitation indeed, hands coming forth from behind his back to briefly stretch above his head before he follows suit and, naturally so, settles against the kitchen’s counter. He doesn’t mind her motivations, would perhaps have the same if he were in her position -- and offers it him the possibility to further interrogate the new family member, or a potential one at least. A reassuring expression flickers onto gentle features as brows rise at her understandable demand. “ Oh, I’m not much of a talker -- even less so when I’m not directly involved in the story, ” and you couldn’t quite call it direct involvement to have, unbeknownst to him at that point, paid for a hot beverage that he would likely have bought to begin with, had he been there. The tailor shop paid well enough to finance a small house nearby and a holiday each year anew -- certainly not enough to buy a plane ticket every once in a while when Moa needed his assistance for whatever reason, but she paid for those expenses and wouldn’t have it any other way.

That he didn’t like talking much about money, then, had entirely different reasons and all of them traced back to his upbringing.

Spread fingertips run through his hair when her question puts him in a delicate position, tidy hairdo melting into somewhat of a wavy mess but it’s the look he gives that shows his inner disunity when he attempts to keep the counterquestion casual, “ Moa told you about her age? ” He shouldn’t need the clarification -- from the conversations held in gay bars and on terribly long walks, he’s almost read the stage of relationship they’re in. But love always sounds either awfully impersonal or insanely serious when it’s Moa who talks about the subject. There’s no in-between, it seems at times, yet is the confirmation of his assumption apparent in green eyes when he catches their sight and dutifully adds, “ Forty-five years. ”

                   ❛ &. ┊   “ I was sixteen when she got me out of Warsaw. ” Shoulders shrug but the movement is uncertain, brows furrowed and casting dark shadows over his eyes as if he’s fearful that he’s already said too much -- pushed her into complete confusion. “ She more or less adopted me. ”

‘ hey now! ’ a frown, a pout, an audible gasp. ‘ I am not clingy. ’ moa was just a fantastic pillow, her weight utterly comfortable on her. ‘ I prefer the term cuddly. ’ arms cross, the photograph now resting against her chest. ‘ there is so little time I have with her ’ it’s not an excuse, it’s a fact. ‘ she’s always busy ‘ of course I try to stretch out what little we have for as long as possible. ’ a shrug. who wouldn’t? moa owned her heart, there was no mystery around that, well perhaps there was, because moa didn’t really know, did she? ‘ I am not kleptic either, I collect ’ the hint of a smug smile threatens to overthrow the pout, but only for a beat, instead of a smirk the pout makes room for a soft smile. home, that’s what moa was to her. ‘ I have meant to ask her to move in—- ’ it is surprisingly easy to be that open, that straight forward with him. a complete stranger. ‘ it is an irrational fear, but, part of me worries that she will decline, that she’ll want to wait… ’ until she no longer does what she does best. eyes flicker back to his and she realizes what vulnerability she’d just had displayed. fuck—- features change, harden, turn nonchalant before she shrugs ‘ old habits and all. ’ a thin-lipped smile. 

a tilt of her head, red curls falling over her shoulder. ‘ she’s had years to practice that. ’ a chuckle, albeit mera had learned to hear moa, even when she made no sound, to be aware of her, before she even approached, but then perhaps her enhanced hearing played a role in that. ‘ you had me worried there for a second, I thought my skill had waned. ’ the wicked little smile is back ‘ but you just got lucky, aware of me and my little past-time activity. ’ she studies him quietly for a beat, decides that she likes him, wouldn’t mind seeing him again, under different circumstances.

‘ wait—- ’ she doesn’t like what she is hearing ( she still likes him ), even as her heart sinks and hear features fall ‘ she, won’t stop by tonight? ’ yeah, mera doesn’t like the sound of that at all. ‘ I thought she, I thought that maybe… ’ she worries her bottom lip between her teeth. ‘ no wait—- I think she will, I hope she does. ’ lunch and coffee dates did very little to satisfy her constant yearning for moa and her company. eyes narrow, fingers grasping the photograph a little tighter ‘ I’ll have to hide it, won’t I, just in case? ’ alas she liked his suggestion, of flowers and a proper dinner, the photograph could be a gift too—- ifa risky one.

                     ❛ &. ┊  He endures the correction with a grin that spreads from one ear to another, raised brows and chin nodding purposely -- as though he knows already that, surely, Moa’s the one in the wrong. And he doesn’t recognise the sudden intimacy of the situation before Mera’s features harden; he’s oblivious to the warmth he radiates, the familiarity, always has been despite his long-lived friend’s attempts of telling him. But then again is that perhaps just his nature -- soft-spoken whenever he’s allowed to be, gentle, mannerisms bleeding into whomever comes close. Moa has hardened over the years and then softened again, and taught him, ultimately, that the continuous development of a mind throughout centuries of change is free to be welcomed. Eyes never have seen a monstrosity behind the black of her orbs, even the anger he found justified... but all of that, he keeps locked away in the depths of his thinking and however much potential he sees in the relationship between Moa and the stubbornly reacting personality of his counterpart, is the origin of a life-long friendship a delicate subject.

That he loves her is evident, regardless, in the way his index finger immediately rises to aid Moa’s defence. “ That’s not quite what I’ve said, ” he counters, but any further elaboration is made unnecessary when the woman changes her mind and the tailor shakes his head laughing, can see why Moa’s feet are a little lighter, features a little softer, when she comes sauntering into the coffee shop that has become their main meeting point whenever he’s in the United States -- there’s a vibrancy that hovers ‘round Mera’s silhouette like a radiant cloak, makes it hard to be angry and far easier to smile. There’s hardly been a relationship of Moa’s that he’s opposed in the past few decades -- but this one, it makes even him hope that it works out.

[ GRINDR MESSAGE : FISH ] : attached image. 

[ GRINDR MESSAGE : FISH ] : can you host ?

                    [ GRINDR MESSAGE : TATTOO ] : Depends on your taste in liquor.

lips part in a perfect o-shape before she goes slack-jawed, stares at him, mouth agape like a fish out of water. she had talked about her, had talked about them—- had shown him pictures of them. it feels like eternity but she manages to catch herself, manages to form coherent thoughts once more. she had talked about her. a grin tugs on her lips, does so now that her mouth is closed again. ‘ what did she tell you about me? ’ what a ridiculous question. she felt giddy, like a fucking teenager. look at her, look at what love could do. she understands now, what for atlana had risked it all. she’d done for far less until she had met moa—- funny, how things could change.

‘ yeah, I’m sorry about that. ’ a nod towards the wallet that now disappeared. ‘ I’m impressed though, that you noticed, not many do. ’ what a strange compliment, but then, it befitted their meeting. ‘ so you recognized me, when I brushed past you? ’ perhaps he had paid attention to her because of that, had noticed what she was up to, perhaps she didn’t slack after all. 

eyes shift once more towards the photograph she still holds. ‘ she will know where I have it from. ’ she realizes, ‘ -—she’ll be looking for her suit. ’ oh, had he really brought another suit for her, for moa? she’d ask her to model it. to show it off, because g o d she loved that woman, loved her in a suit all the more, loved undressing her out of suits especially. ‘ you think she’ll be upset that I have it? ’ pictures are a rare thing, are seldom of them, of moa alone almost inexistent and meraunderstood why, moa had told her—- still, she loved capturing soft moments of them. oh yeah right, he’d ask her for something—- ‘ I’ll make a point of not picking from your pockets again. ’

                      ❛ &. ┊ It’s been a while since he’s last seen eyes glint in the very same fashion that his counterpart’s do, the complete and utter infatuation enough to elicit a laugh that is exceptionally him -- warm, genuine, prospering from the time he’s been given. And he relates to the bone-crushing love she seems to have for Moa Zhao, albeit in an entirely different way; his name slips the immortal’s tongue particularly seldom, partly because he himself prefers it that way. Mainly, though, because he shares with Moa Zhao what Kua Hale doesn’t -- the scars of war still burn themselves into his flesh even after all this time; the cross eternalised against the vulnerable skin of his neck reminds him of how he met her, of how he survived. He knows more about her than any other living friend does -- and so he empathises, grins, allows his mobile phone to slip back into his pockets before he mockingly responds, “ That you’re clingy, kleptic, talented in making her stay when she doesn’t have the time to, ” but that’s not all, is it?

Tongue darts over a lower lip, head shaking, and it’s apparent that all traits he lists, he does to make the situation a little more light-hearted. “ And she told me she can’t wait for the day to come home after work and find you reading on the window sill. ” The quietude of a home; he’s almost been there, had a few chances to make the dream reality -- but it seems that she’s been quicker. Hands fold behind his back again, head tilting to the side as if pondering, and he hums in response to the compliment, “ You learn to grow a little more attentive around Miss Zhao. She rarely makes a sound when she enters a room -- unless she wants to. But in the current political climate in Britain, is it perhaps also quite an asset to have another pair of eyes in the back of your head. ”

teeth sink into a bottom lip, barely mask the pout that etches across her features. ‘ what did you tell her? ’ worry, a dash of fear too. she knew moa hate what she was up during her free time, or well, didn’t quite approve—- upsetting her, was something mera hated to do.  and picking from her friend? acquaintance? was bound to get her in trouble, one way or the other. fuck. ‘ why you needed my address, needed to see me? ’ she holds on to the picture still, guards it almost, as if it was a treasure. ‘ how did you know that she knew me? ’ so many questions. she fails to wrap her mind around the situation still, while she had been caught before, no one had shown up at her door before. 

‘ how did you even get the picture? ’ she questions, eyes shifting back to it, changing the topic once more. a beat—- ‘ do you have more? ’ a soft smile stretches along her features. she loves her, loves her so—- she rummages through her bag now, grasping the image still, her most prized possession. ‘ how do you know her? ’ she plugs the wallet from the depth of her bag, she’d had a coffee on him, had bought one for moa too when they had met during her break. ‘ she knows what I am up to and she doesn’t really approve—- ’ an understatement. ‘ you must think foul of me, for doing what I did, even if she disproves. ’ she tosses him the wallet ‘ I know how undeserving of her I am. ’ she watches him ‘ but I love her, with all that I am, with all that I’ll ever be, I always will ’

                      ❛ &. ┊ “ I told her I’d deliver her new suit to your place so she’d be free to spend all weekend with you and not worry about it. ” A gentle reassurance, but albeit he isn’t as strict about his honesty as Moa Zhao is -- certainly a good liar when she wants to be, though the last time he’s seen her tongue twist in that way was to protect him and she’d disliked it nonetheless -- is the idea of lying not a particularly attractive one. Questions pour out of a mouth like water, rising from floor to chin until fingers curling round the wallet allowed him to finally settle the discomfort of being essentially identityless, even if just for a few moments.

“ I’m Miss Zhao’s tailor -- and a friend of old times, ” begins he, gaze briefly flickering inside the wallet to see if all is where it ought to be -- except the money. Certainly not his prioritised worry in this situation. It slips back into his possession, though this time not into the pockets of his ironed pants but a messenger bag worn round his shoulders. A warm brown, worn out; a present from years ago. “ And I don’t think foul of you, by far. It takes some dexterity to almost escape my attention -- but she’d sent me pictures of you, told me about you. How much she’s in love with you. ” A pause to think, pick out his phone, and open his gallery; he never keeps pictures for far too long. She doesn’t want him to and he understands -- the fear of recognition is a fear shared, but there a few are anyway. The redhead grinning, assumably saying something but Moa doesn’t listen, a few shared photographs, intimate, loving... and then he as he tries to enjoy his beer in a gay pub, Moa sticking out his tongue, and he remembers her acknowledging the obvious taker checking him out from few tables away. There’s not much else, perhaps a dozen pictures in total, and eventually they too would be deleted. “ It takes a lot to win her heart. If you were undeserving of her, she wouldn’t even bother disagreeing with what you’re doing. ”

there is a hint of annoyance that accompanies her opening the door. that much for her nap. the annoyance spikes further, a hint defensiveness settling into her stance, into her posture. fuck—- she’d seen him before, had lifted off of him, his wallet, she’d done so in passing, had brushed against him while easily tugging the well-worn leather out of his pocket in one swift motion. how had he found her? had he followed her? she lacks fear, k n o w s she could easily overpower him should he have come for that, it’s anger that flares up, he had caught her. she needed to one-up her game then, but—- how had he found her? ‘ you must have me—- oh! ’ she gingerly tugs the photograph from his grasp, studies it, a smile on her lips. moa. ‘ a shame don’t you think? with her beauty—- ’ gone is the annoyance, the anger and defensiveness, in their place, a soft smile, her eyes still trained on the photograph. god, she loved her. ‘ documents? ’ oh yeah that, arms cross ( she will keep the photograph ) had he told moa? ‘ do you always follow women that bump into you on the street? ’ a click of her tongue ‘ or—- how did you find me? ’ she figures, that if he knows moa, denying won’t do her well, he could get her in trouble with her, after all, so she steps aside and lets him in, no indication yet, whether or not she’ll hand over his property—-

it’s  been  a  hectic  couple  of  weeks .  travelling ,  memories  and  a  different  graveyard  every  night ,  it  seems .  she  and  moa  had  explored  sam’s  country  of  origin  like  it  had  been  blown  wide  open  for  them .  a  new  experience  for  the  slayer ,  indeed .  she’s unused  to  effectively  being  able  to  pick  a  spot  and  go ,  but …  life  is  full  of  surprises ,  right ?  at  present ,  moa  is  occupied  with  her  own  shindig ,  and  sam  is  here  to  do  her  part .  a  suit ,  for  an  apparently  important  affair .  sam’s  not  wholly  sure  of  that  implication ,  but  she’s of  the  mindset  that  if  the  food’s  promised  to  be  good ?  whatever .

moa  knows  this  guy .  sam  had  been  told  to  simply  mention  the  immortal’s  name ,  and  ephraim  would  know  what  to  do .  so ?  here  she  is .  out  of  place  and  awkward ,  clad  in  faded  plaid  and  rocking  from  heel  to  toe  with  her  hands  set  upon  the  counter .  newspaper  dude  fits  the  description  she’d  been  given ,  and  sam’s  trying  to  make  a  good  impression .  “ hey !  ephraim ,  right ? i ,  um … “  something  about  his  stare  makes  her  tongue  fumble  and  her  cheeks  darken .  not  for  the  first  time  in  her  life ,  she  feels  totally  out  of  place . 

   “ m-moa . “  ah ,  smooth !  unable  to  handle  the  eye  contact ,  sam  glances  down  and  examines  the  crossword  being  filled  in .  just  throwing  it  out  there , briefly ,  three  letters . “ is  it  i.m.o ?  that’s  internet  slang  for  in  my  opinion . “

❛ &. ┊ Eyes squint together as if to desperately recall the young woman’s features -- or any other reason for why his own name tumbling over her tongue would seem to elicit such surprisingly insecure picture; and should it not surprise when the stuttering is followed up with Moa’s name, but takes the smile that inevitably tugs corners of a mouth upward a little longer nonetheless, eyes pulling gaze off reddened features and onto his newspaper to stare, unblinkingly, at the puzzle until it clicks. “ Of course... ” Indeed. Lips exhale a contented sigh, fingertips fill in the three spots, and he tosses the newspaper onto the counter to get up on his feet.