multiversallogs | We have this strange obsession / You have the means in your possession

Who: Rachel Conway and THE ENTIRE CITY, I guess. If you want.
What: Hanging out at the tea house for tea, conversation, and CR.
Where: The Shrove's Wing.
When: Shundi, from midday until well into the evening.
Notes: Note the time of day if it makes a difference to your thread.
Warnings:

Potential for people Rachel knows to get mashed together like Barbies IT'S FUN SHE ENJOYS IT OKAY.

Working the middle shift is a mixed bag. On the one hand, Rachel's day is pretty much shot for anything else; not long enough before her shift for much in the way of adventures, and while her later evening is free it's not like she has a circle of friends or dates or anyone to go out on the town with after.

But the trade-off in being there for this shift is seeing the customer base turn over, from the people doing lunch to the leisurely afternoon lollygaggers, from those arriving for midafternoon tea to the evening dates. A wide range of people, alone or with company, comes and goes over the course of her shift, and she's happy to wait on or hang out with them all.

She can be found manning the tea bar, or sometimes carrying pots, cups, and food to and from tables. Sometimes she even gets to crash at a table or in a booth for a few, or she gets to go upstairs to wait on someone in one of the private rooms. It's a busy day and there are a lot of people to see.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Rachel finishes with one customer, checks on another, and then sidles over to where the newcomer in the white jacket sits. "Hi," she says, offering a bright smile. She sets a napkin down just to one side, noting that he's still looking over the menu.

"Do you need a minute? I can come back. I can also answer any questions you have about the menu."

She's so cheerful, waiting there without making it obvious she's waiting. You'd never guess she never held down a service job before this.

Pretty girl, neat place, smells that aren't terrible - could be worse. Remy smiles, charming but not flirtatious (even he knows it's a dick move to pull that on someone while she's working), and leans on one elbow, facing her.

"I dunno if I right know enough to be askin' questions," he admits, though he doesn't exactly sound abashed by his ignorance. "Never did drink much tea, but when in Rome, no? You got any favorites?"

Rachel's been on the receiving end of more than enough of said dick moves, because so many dudes think they're the first one that ever had the idea to hit on their server. She's grateful he stops at charming without blasting straight past that toward flirting.

"I have a few," she offers, smiling. Her gaze holds his a moment, taking in those eyes--but that's as far as it goes, noting they're different without making anything further of it. "A lot depends on what you're in the mood for. Something sweet? Fruity? Spicy? Kinda traditional?"

Remy has, in fact, been the perpetrator of many-a-dick move, but fortunately he's grown up since then, and also been knocked around something fierce a good number of times. (Some guys just turn into worse assholes, some guys evolve. Remy is good at evolution, in many ways.)

"Let's go for tradition," he says, and seems to be genuinely interested, in a carefully curious sort of way, like he's not sure what he's supposed to be curious about, really. Tea. What the heck. "What counts as tradition 'round here anyway?"

"It's a bit of what's traditional from all over," she explains, "may I?" Rachel tugs gently at the menu he's holding, so she can lower it enough to point at things while she's speaking.

"So there's a couple of from-this-city traditional blends. This one's sort of like apples and mint. And that one, it's herbal. Pretty strongly herbal. This one here is kind of like sweet tea with lemon, only hot. There's your Earl Grey and Oolong. This one here is kind of a green tea, with ginger. And then this--well. I can totally recommend that to anyone who enjoys the fragrant bouquet you find when you stick your head in a cat's litter pan."

Her smile doesn't falter once, especially not with that last explanation, though it may have gained a slightly mischievous cast.

"I'm Rachel. I'll be happy to make you a pot of whichever you choose."

"Hiiii Rachel," he says, laughing into that through the end of her explanation. "I'm Remy. Enchanté, of course." Trolling a little, but it's obvious.

"I think the hot sweet tea one sounds okay. Pass on the cat litter."

"Oh, good. I didn't want to have to go out to the alley for a cat anyway." She's laughing now too, all attempts at pretending she was not just being a troll herself abandoned. "Hi, Remy. It's nice to meet you, too. Excuse me for just a minute, okay? I'll get everything together."

She moves down the counter, checking on one patron, picking up a tip left at another seat, and then she starts gathering things. She makes a few quick trips back to where Remy waits, setting down a pot and removing its lid, then bringing over a large glass jar of tea leaves.

"So," she says, glancing up from replacing the lid on the jar and plucking a sand timer from below the counter, "are you new to the city, or have you been here a while?"

This almost feels normal, just sitting around at some out of the ordinary place, chatting with a waitress and people-watching. Or rather, it's what he thinks normal might feel like; this sort of thing rarely happens at home without the inevitable thrown punch or horrified look. No matter how many people think he's cute, someone always has a sister or a boyfriend who looks at him and recoils.

It's sort of annoying to find a respite in other dimensions.

"New by a few days," he says, watching Rachel work. It's interesting - certainly different than bussing tables, anyway. "You seem pretty at home."

There's a faint smile as she pours hot water over the tea to steep it. She recaps the pot and turns the sand timer over, so she knows how long to let the tea sit.

"I've been here..." She frowns, just a little, thinking as she sets the hot water pot back on a burner. "God, three months now? Something like that, at least." She gets a cup and saucer out and gives them a quick glance to make sure they're clean and ready--they are, and they're set in front of Remy.

"I figured out pretty quick I couldn't get back anytime soon--"

She's not really ready to admit that's probably less an anytime soon and more a never, she'll cling to that tiny hope--

"And I wanted to be the hell out of the Valhalla Inn. It's amazing how much motivation you can find to settle in, faced with that."

He wrinkles his nose. "Weird, innit?" The Inn, he means. "It's kinda nice though, in the intent. And I say that with full appreciation of the fact that it's patronizing as hell. But." He leans on his forearms, head tilted, giving her a much more subdued look. "I been in this situation before. I been bounced all over the goddamn multiverse, and I been in more places than this that everybody says you can't get home from. Everybody goes home. It's where we belong, like it or not. So don't you worry none."

Rachel studies his face a moment, considering his words. And then she nods, her gaze dropping. "Thank you. I'll try."

She spares a glance at the timer--still spilling sand into the lower chamber, not time yet--and when her eyes go back to Remy's face her smile is back where it started. "And it is nice, and all. The inn. I think they mean well, it's just, I'd rather be out on my own. And not having to worry about, like, who I'm relying on and what that might cost me down the road." She shrugs a bit. "I'd rather stand on my own two feet."

We have this strange obsession / You have the means in your possession

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