You step onto a cracked but clean tile floor that was probably once red, but is now a faded salmon pink. A large, rectangular communal table seating about 10 takes up the middle of the floor, with mismatched smaller tables arranged near the large front windows. The long counter in front of the kitchen door sports plates of fragrant bread, cookies, and muffins and bowls of fresh wild fruits. A small, rattling fridge in the corner holds a selection of juices and cold spring water in reused bottles and jars. Atop the refrigerator is a can for cash donations; next to it is a box for barter payments. Scrawled on the box in black marker are the words "Pay what you can, when you can."
Did someone call for 'tall, dark, and handsome'? Well, dark's fairly well covered, at least. Jet-black hair's pulled into a long, loose tail at the nape of his neck, a few stray strands about the face occasionally drifting into his almost equally dark eyes, the irises of which are a brown deep enough that one needs to look closely to find the pupil. Nut-brown skin that sets off the white of his teeth and eyes -- it could just barely be mistaken for a very deep tan, if one really tried. Tall is a miss; he's still several inches off six feet, and he probably won't ever get there. Handsome... well, not a classic beauty, to be sure, but well-proportioned, with a stunning, frequent grin and deeply expressive features. Slim, but in perfectly good shape.
He's clad in... well, black leather pants. Somewhat faded, well broken in, but nicely cut and really =quite= nicely fitted. A simple cream shirt hangs untucked above them, long sleeved and fastened with a row of small, black stone buttons. Over that, he wears a decidedly well-worn old black trenchcoat, almost too big for him -- the cuffs hang down half-over his hands, when he lets them, and the hem hangs perilously close to his heels. Scuffed black leather boots with worn soles adorn his feet; there's a seemingly random collection of bracelets, all on one wrist, and several piercings along the upper section of each ear -- little silver hoops.
She's a young thing, looking to be in her late teens or early twenties. Not terribly imposing, she stands at about an average height for a woman with a build that's a few meals shy of healthy. Golden-toned skin hints at Latina heritage, a notion reinforced by her sleek, straight black hair, which has been bound into twin braids, each tied off with a length of powder blue ribbon fashioned into a bow. Several strands have fallen free to frame a pretty face with delicate bone structure and soft features. Dark eyes glitter behind the errant locks of her hair, bright and intelligent.
The dress she wears is a little loose on her, but she fills it out well enough to give her a distinctly feminine figure. Like the ribbons in her hair, the dress is powder blue, printed with tiny flowers in white and green. The cut is simple, a scooped neck with short poofy sleeves and a voluminous calf-length skirt. To keep warm, she wears a long coat over the dress, woolen and brown, with broad fleecy cuffs and more fleece lining along the lapel. Over a pair of somewhat faded white stockings, she wears somewhat battered leather boots embroidered on the sides with colorful flowers.
Around her neck, on a leather thong, is a pendant made from what looks to be a piece of glass taken from a chandelier, a faceted teardrop that catches ambient light and reflects it back in prismatic sparkles. She also wears a silver charm bracelet on one wrist and a mismatched pair of silvery clip-on earrings.
There's something about Justin that marks him as completely human, without a drop of more interesting blood. There's also something that speaks quietly of power held on a tight leash. Physically, he's a perfectly average height with a broad and stocky frame that is not fat (yet) but is made to carry a lot of it. He's probably from a variety of European stock; his face is open and gentle, his nose just large enough to be interesting. He wears a short, neat beard, trimmed close, and gold-wire-rimmed spectacles with expensively slim lenses. Behind the specs, his eyes are a light, tawny brown, almost golden. His hands are a scholar's: large and dexterous, inkstained, callused where his pen rests on his right ring finger. Callused in new places, lately, from rougher work than turning pages. His hair is dark, somewhere between auburn and brown, and almost excessively thick and shiny. It's usually worn in a glossy, waist-length braid. The color is broken by a thick streak of startling, pure-white hair that starts above his left temple. So much white in his hair makes him look older than he might otherwise seem--late thirties or more, as opposed to late twenties.
He's wearing jeans and a white shirt under a dark grey sweater, and leather boots of a rusty color. In the cold of the early year he often wears a heather-gray woolen cloak, as well. Always within reach, if not actually in hand, is a wooden staff as tall as he is.
This slender young man draws the eye, first with his waterfall of perfectly white hair-- not blond, but white and fine as Queen Anne's lace-- carelessly confined with a simple tie at the nape of his neck. His features are delicate and symmetrical to a startling, almost inhuman degree. His skin is pale, nearly translucently so, which reinforces the fragility suggested by the fine lines of his jaw and collarbones; in contrast to this, his eyes are the deep, thoughtful blue of an evening sky.
He is currently wearing a black wool cloak with no buttons, but trimmed with white and silver and red embroidery. Under this, he is wearing black woolen trousers, a fine white linen shirt with the ties hanging loose around his throat, and a black wool-felt vest with silver buttons.
He wears a simple silver band ring with a dark blue stone-- his only jewelry-- on the middle finger of his right hand.
Aurelia rolls her eyes, shaking her head. "Boys," she complains, as if she's suddenly quite the authority. She does, however, come bearing food, bringing out trays into the main room laden with venison and piping hot bread, spiced squash, a tea service. It all looks downright civilized. "I'd say y'all need a woman's touch, but..." She stifles a chuckle. More of a snort, really.
"I think you have not met Robin," Miki says. "She likes food very much, but she does not use a plate if she is in a hurry. Well, except for messy things, like soup or ice cream." Miki grins. "Although, she scolds me for sitting on the counter, so!" He shrugs, one corner of his mouth quirking back wickedly.
"Not to mention, she's currently a man," Justin adds, briefly amusing himself with trying to fold a napkin into an interesting three-dimensional structure. He gives up after a moment; the napkin is far too limp for such things.
The door opens, and Serendipity walks in, taking a deep breath. "Mmm. Smells great in here. Just you, beautiful, or's someone been cooking?" he asks in cheerful greeting to Aurelia, and then nods to the boys, with a broad grin. "How's it goin', guys?"
Aurelia gives Ren a Look as she sets down the last of the food. "Well, for what it's worth, I'm planning on staying a girl," she tells Justin and Miki. Then she does the absolutely unthinkable. She smiles, even if it's only a little, and she walks up to Ren, puts her arms around his neck, and gives him a warm welcoming kiss. On the cheek. The world hasn't gone completely mad yet. "Hey you," she drawls. "Come sit and get some food in ya." Glancing over her shoulder, she tells the others, "Dig in. Don't wait on my account."
Miki forgets to sit down, forgets about the food, and forgets to greet Ren, instead staring at Justin with his mouth sagging open. "Robin... is... what?" He grips the back of a chair lightly, as though he needs the support.
Justin watches this greeting with a fond sort of 'ah, young love' expression, and sits down. "Hmm?" he says to Miki. "Oh. A man. She's, well, he's doing it because apparently he finds it enlightening."
Serendipity returns the kiss -- also on the cheek! Satan must be ice skating -- and wraps his arms around the girl's waist to give her a hug, which apparently involves lifting her off the ground, at the moment. He puts her back down on her feet, gently, and smooches the top of her head before letting her go, and heading obediently to the table. "She makes a cute guy," he remarks, as he slips into a chair. "...Robin, I mean. This time."
Aurelia tolerates the lifting with only a mildly dirty look at Ren and a prim smoothing of her dress after he sets her down on her feet again. She then heads over to the table, pulling out a chair for Ren and pouring him a cup of tea. "I wonder what'll happen if I ever meet anyone you don't think is cute," she chides Ren. She then tears off a piece of bread and, rather than sitting at the table, meanders toward the door. "Y'all tuck in. I just gotta get somethin' from the tree house. I'll be right back. S'quicker to fly anyway."
Miki pulls out the chair and sits down without looking, landing in the chair by sheerest accident. "Enlightening," he repeats, apparently much absorbed in this thought. For some reason, he gives Aurelia a hard stare as she leaves the room, then looks at the food on the table as if it just dropped out of the sky.
"She /does/ make a cute guy." Justin agrees with Ren. The end of the world is surely nigh. "Thanks for the meal, Aurelia, it's nice to have someone else cook for a change."
Serendipity rests his hand lightly on the small of Aurelia's back for a moment when she pours the tea, then transfers it to the cup, taking a sip. "Watch out for the ice by the tree," he advises her, "I was tryin' to build something..." He quirks a brow at Miki, and pulls an apparently unclaimed plate over to dig in, himself.
Aurelia gives Ren a worried look, then just shakes her head, ruffling his hair before she takes off. The look Miki gives her gets an odd look, but she doesn't say anything save for, "My pleasure, boys. Hate to see menfolk go hungry." She looks distracted, preoccupied, and then in something of a hurry as she hustles out the door into the street.
Miki waves at Aurelia, not apparently noticing the weird looks he's getting, and then looks at the food. He starts filling his plate, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. "It is just very strange," he says to the world in general.
Justin follows suit. "Very," he agrees, "but it must be fun to be able to change sex at will." He pauses in the midst of ladling out a spoonful of squash. "...I wonder how she does it."
Serendipity nods to Justin, swallowing his bite of food before agreeing, "=I= wouldn't mind that talent. 's gotta be magic, right?" He looks thoughtful. "...'course, any kinda changing seems pretty neat when you're stuck with whatcha got, right?"
A peculiar look passes over Miki's face. "I think I am happy with what I have," he says, with emphasis. "Although I would like to see Robin. She... er, he has not been around lately."
"Yes, it's magic." Justin seems to have forgotten about the food, his concentration on the discussion. "I wonder what /kind/ of magic, though... Yes, very true. Sometimes I envy the shifters their changing. Of course, lately Danny can't sleep in his bed for fear he'll go crinos in the night and break it." He glances at Miki, and abruptly falls silent. Oh look, food! He eats.
Serendipity has absolutely not forgotten the food. The food is =good=. You'd think he hadn't eaten a thing all day. This does not, however, prevent him from talking. To the plate, apparently. "I dunno. That's just growing pains, right? 'cause they're new. Once you got it all grown into..." He trails off, sounding almost wistful, and stares at the venison a second before taking another bite. "Why wouldn't you wanna, Miki?" he asks, then.
Miki looks up, his mouth full, and stares at Ren with his head cocked to one side, obviously not understanding the question. Then he chokes. "I, ah, ah." He manages to swallow, turns faintly red, and replies, rather sullenly, "I just do not want to."
"It can be a problem for newly-Awakened mages, too, if there isn't anyone to show them how to control their power." Justin glances at Miki, with an unusually sly grin. "That's all right, Miki. I like you perfectly well just as you are. And I'm not the only one."
Serendipity hehs at Justin's comment, and grins again himself. "'s true; I s'pose if I did so well the first time I might not be interested in playin' with changes either," he teases. "...fair 'nough, anyway. I just wondered." Shrug. "Boring normal people like me, somea this stuff comes off pretty intriguing." He stands, picking up his teacup and a hunk of bread, and wandering over to glance out the window restlessly.
Miki scrubs at his plate with a piece of bread, as though intent on wiping out some insult or bad memory. Of course, there is no such thing on the plate, only food. "I am fine as I am," he says, still with that touch of defiance.
"Of all the possible adjectives, 'boring' is one that doesn't apply to you, Ren," Justin informs the coyotekin, dryly. Miki's irritation draws his attention, and he gives him a somewhat worried look. "Of course you are, Miki. What's wrong?"
"Nothing is wrong," replies Miki, biting into the bread as if biting the head off some small furry creature. He chews vigorously, widening his eyes at Justin to emphasize how much nothing is wrong.
"Coulda sworn that's what we both just =said=," Ren half-mutters, and takes a bite of his own bread... in a manner that's a startling mirror of the way Miki just did, especially considering he can't have seen the other youth do it. The restlessness seems to have turned into a rather uncharacteristic tension.
Justin, perhaps wisely, remains silent. He does glance at the ceiling in exasperation, but trades commenting at this time for eating.
Miki clears his plate with quite swift throughness, then stands up and takes it into the kitchen. He returns after a moment and perches on the counter in his usual spot, but he hitches up his feet, wrapping his arms around his knees and brooding like an anarchist in a seedy cafe.
Serendipity turns around, leaning on the window, arms lightly crossed, as he finished off the hunk of bread. He studies Miki almost expressionlessly for a few seconds, and then comments quite precisely, "It's not nice to lie, y'know."
Justin having finished stands up to take his plate into the kitchen. Ren's statement earns him a long, searching look from the mage, but Justin takes things into the kitchen without reply.
Miki whips his head up and gives Ren a long, smoky glare, the sort which usually precedes a series of loud and wordy explosions. "I do not lie," he says, each word bitten off precisely. "I did not learn how. Not like most people."
"Really?" Ren replies coolly, eyes steady on Miki, "'cause either you're the kinda spoilt brat who sulks and broods for no reason but the attention of it, which wasn't the impression I was under, or you just lied to us. T' Justin, specifically."
The water in the kitchen comes on, following by dish-washing sounds.
Miki lifts his head and his shoulders from his knees, his very hair seeming to lift in his rage and his eyes narrowing to reflective slits. "I did not lie. You will explain and apologize, or I will make you feel regret." It is a threat, but it is delivered in a strangely flat voice, a statement not of challenge or defiance but almost of insinuation. "I will not be a mirror for your temper."
"I'm terrified," Ren replies flatly, looking entirely unmoved. "Wait," he adds, eyes opening in mock surprise, "that was a lie. And =speaking= of mirrors for people's temper. All I'm sayin' is: you went all touchy-sulky-sullen at us, and then you told Justin nothin' was wrong when he asked. So =either= somethin' =is= wrong and you lied about it, or nothin' is and you're acting like a spoilt brat for no reason. 'cause I like you, Miki, I think you're great mosta the time, but you keep doin' this kinda thing and it's =old=."
The dishes continue being washed.
"Nothing *is* wrong," spits Miki at Ren, flinging his legs down from the counter and sliding to his feet in one movement. "There is nothing *wrong* with wanting to stay the way I am. Nothing WRONG with it at all! And you have no right to ask, and if you do not like me or the way I act, you can go away and stop playing." Miki waves one arm at Ren in a disdainful gesture. "You tell me how to act but you will not let any one tell you, no no! Not even the bird, who knows you so well. So go away. You do not want to know me, and I am tired of being *handled* by someone who does not want to know anything about me."
Serendipity arches a brow at Miki, and does not otherwise move. "No one said there =was= anythin' wrong with wantin' to stay the way you are. 'fact, way I remember it, =both= of us said there =wasn't=. The question was what's wrong that you're gettin' all fourteen years old at us about =us= discussin' =whether= we'd want t' be able t' change ourselves at will, be different sexes or shapes or what-the-dark-ever. 'cause see, Majlath de Holtsapadtbolyh Miklos m'lovely, you're sulkin' at us, and there's a reason or not. If there's a reason, you're lyin' when you say there isn't, and leavin' us no way t' make it better or keep from doin' it again. If there isn't, you're just bein' a spoilt child, an' I'm pretty sure you're better than that. And yeah, I =don't= know you that well, not 'cause I don't wanna or haven't tried. 'cause you won't let me. But right =now= the thing I'm wonderin's how willin' you are t' know yourself."
Justin finally ventures out of the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up, his mouth twisted in annoyance. "It is /far/ too nice a day for this. *I* am going to go outside and enjoy the spring. It has been too long a winter." And with that, he suits action to words.
Miki lifts his chin, looks Ren right in the eye, and makes a very graceful, vigorous, and obviously rude gesture with one arm. "No one asked if there was a reason. My feelings are my own," he adds, imperiously. "And if I do not want to share them with people who are rude, that is not lying!" He stalks past Ren, shaking his hair back angrily, removes his cloak from its peg and snaps it around his shoulders, and swirls out the door without waiting for a reply.