smileactivated (smileactivated) wrote in district_9,

Cafe Pick Me Up :: 2 p.m.

Reece hunched his shoulders and ducked in the door, swearing under his breath. He vaguely remembered breaking his umbrella by being brilliant and trying to pry open one of the windows in his apartment with it. It'd broken, predictably, and genius that he was, he still hadn't bought a replacement.

"Not-so-mental note to self," he said, discreetly wringing his hair out to the side, "unidentifiable crust-thing on window is invincible."

He stretched a little and brightened when he caught sight of the coffee. Caffeine would be just the thing to put the pep back in his step.

Step up the pep in my step? Reece snickered a little at his dorkiness.

He ordered a large coffee and, several pounds of sugar packets in hand, sat down at a comfortable little table in the back. There was graffiti on the tabletop and he squinted at it, then frowned at his hand.

Smurf blue, Reece thought with some amusement. He wiped his hands on his jeans and raised his eyebrows as he set about dumping an entire landfill's worth of sugar in his coffee. He hoped that the dye hadn't bled all over his face. On the other hand, if it had, then maybe he'd look like he was one of the undead or something. And maybe that'd be kind of cool.
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Tristan was nursing a cup of Kenya coffee and flipping through The Anarchist Cookbook with obvious disgust. The book was a complete waste of time and he really had no idea why he had spent his money on it. He'd known before hand that it really had nothing to do with Anarchy, but he figured learning quick an easy ways to make bombs would be a neat idea just in case he needed to kill Mark and his sell out band one day. It would have been dandy if the book wasn't full of errors.

He snapped it closed and sipped his coffee. The place was pretty dead but he figured everyone was at work or school. His bandmates weren't around since Lucas was in school, Alaric was off doing whatever he did during the day and Landon was sick. He doubted he would even be in at work today. Eh. What a boring miserable rainy day.

He looked around again and spotted the new guy from Books on the Maine sitting at the table near him. He leaned forward. "Hey. You. You people take books back right?" He waved the book around.
Reece was halfway through his twenty-seventh (at least, he thought it was the twenty-seventh; he'd lost count with his mad math skillz some time ago and had had to begin again) sugar packet when he heard someone ask him a Work Question. He canted his head to the side, gathered up all his seller expertise, and said,


Then he cleared his throat and studied the book, "Well--'The Anarchist Cookbook'? What's that do, tell you how to stage a lightly sauteed coup d'etat?--er," Reece laughed a little and tried to reign in his babbling. "Anyway, well uhm, was there plastic wrapping? It didn't come with an anklet or some crap, right?"
Tristan snorted. "It's supposed to do something like that but it's full of really stupid errors that would make someone blow themself up. And nope, didn't have plastic, an anklet--whatever the hell that is-- or anything. I want my twenty two fifty back because this book seriously sucks."

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Tristan turned away from Reese and stared at Landon in surprise. "What are you doing here? We gave you Specific Orders to stay in bed and simmer in your sickly juices until Alaric finished concocting his home made soup... stuff which he claims will magically cure you." He wagged his finger at Landon disaprovingly and wound one end of the scarf around his hand like a leash. "Y'know, I have the matching hat and gloves to this."

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Tristan shook his head and stood up. "Okay, funny man, I'm taking you to Alaric's where we can heal you properly. His brew should be done by now and you can feel like a human for at least the next several hours." He pulled on the scarf and looked at Reese. "Sorry man, but I must leave. Remind me to stalk you at the bookstore some other time." He looked back at Landon and raised an expectant eyebrow.