Welcome to Gaia! ::

He'd picked up a phone for the business specifically, which was networked with two ipads for OpenTable App, google drive for other documentation needs, and a Bistro App for taking orders, tracking inventory and runnings statistics. It was also hooked into the door sensor, to vibrate whenever someone entered in case he wasn't immediately near the front for one reason or another.

As it was, Quenton was finishing de-furring some pillows with a mitt when the device in his butt pocket alerted him that one of the other reservations must have arrived. As it was, there were five customers embroiled with cats in the lounge section, all with hot drinks of choice to stave off the cold snap currently making the East Coast into hoodie weather again. His own attired was fitted jeans and one of his collection of nerdy cat shirts, glasses and his hair pulled out to be tidy. He stowed the mitt in the cleaning bin on a shelf and made way to the front- Not a customer per say. But an appointment of my own making.

He came through the divide portal, closing it neatly behind himself and motioned towards the small barista bar. While the bar itself was not for sitting at, there was a highchair for the occupant while he studied and no one was needing drinks or food. "Orah. Please, have a seat."

Out here will be safe enough. There's no scheduled reservations after hers, and it is easy to see if anyone comes to the divide to order more time, food or beverage. They're all contented with the cats. For her, a drink even just as far as having something warm to hold in both hands, would be beneficial. She doesn't look much different from last we spoke. Should she?
No. I expect I look no different.
We all wear bruises beneath our eyes and behind them.
Staying out of her way has been easily done since then with little to no effort. I was able to contact her...she must still act as Ida at least some of the time, other than college. Still in a team with Athene. Liryn. She was there at the funhouse, in the turning tunnel. I don't know what happened to her after that, too busy carrying Penthe. We didn't speak.

" Can I make you something? Coffee, espresso, tea, cocoa, cider? Gratis- thank you for coming, and welcome to the Catfe." 'I haven't been in a good place, mentally, for a long time now. Not since... I saw Bischofite become Alois. I panicked when you picked me up.' A year gone by. A yellow rose for friendly truce, a yellow rose of jealousy between lovers of one man unmade and revealed. How long have we known each other, but not really been acquainted? Eternal senshi with no connections, no communication, no alliance. 'Court', indeed.

Quenton considered Orah a moment, trying to gauge what sort of tea she might be. I've no real practice at cold reading. She's always nervous. Always dressed in muted, feminine clothes. Bold enough, or selfish enough to romance on someone else's bed- a Guinevere romantic then? As long as it's for love, what matters the sacrifice. At least....possibly that was some shade of who she WAS, a year ago. Does she seem ...sentimental, then? I think. A memory could be cherished and warm, rather than an insult.

The choice made he removed some dishes and scoops and measured out a custom blend of jasmine green tea and orchid oolong. Added to it were organic candied strawberry pieces, rose petals, rose hips, jasmine petals, dried tangerine, rhubarb slices and vanilla bean. It was a light blend, no more than 15mg of caffeine, probably, and wouldn't coat the mouth. He heated water to 185 degrees Fahrenheit, then set in 2 teaspoons to steep for three minutes while he offered reply. "I like cats."

If like was a strong enough word for the fact that at least half the t-shirts he'd worn growing up had been cat related, his most beloved stuffed animal had been a tattered and battered orange mama tabby in a side flank pose that had come in a basket with a set of 4 plushie kittens. It had been as close as he'd gotten to having a real cat at his parents home. "I've liked them for a long time. Their company has been one of the few things in life that never made me feel like I was walking through molasses. Or thinking through it. I don't feel impatient, wasteful or held back in spending time with or on them. I've been told I get 'sparkly eyed' talking about them, so I'll spare you the hundreds of phone pictures or dissertations on the efficaciousness of purring on stress levels. "

"There's been a lot of success with Cat Cafe's in other cities both on a permanent and pop-up store basis. The city's problems create a lot of strays and abandoned pets. They need homes and love, and the students and faculty need someplace to unwind. Whimsy. It's something to create relaxation, revenue while I work on graduate studies, and an excuse as a haven for others at need of space and a possible occupation. Or just a haven, for our special feline companions. " The tea was poured over a strainer into an overtly cutesy cat-eared mug and offered out to her. "If you don't like it I can make you something else. "

"Grand opening was the first week of May, so it's been about a month." He busied in mixing black tea, clove, cardamom, cinnamon and ginger for himself and set it to steep at a proper temperature. It is an odd thing to segue. I don't know if it is ill news, distasteful, boring, or tiresome. She has never asked further about him, in concern for his own sake if there was to be another try, or in desperate malice to avoid the portent of dream like the first.

Quenton leaned against the wall that was at their backs behind the barrista set up. He looked over at her hands, rather than at the floor, or at the middle distance towards the shop. "I have news. "

A very brief check revealed that they were both looking at her hands, which was just a bizarre way of having any sort of conversation. Or connection. This will be maintenance, like anything else. My attempts at being less intense have not been successful.

Rather than continue with the charade of human approachability, he shifted his gaze from her hands to a more broad view of her self. She was insulated, close-postured and a mix of uncertain and small. Uncomfortable in a place that spoke to comfort especially (what else were cats but supreme beings of leisure). The common element was himself. She wasn't going to get more comfortable as long as he was a factor present. "Alois is dead."

How much more of the particulars she wanted or cared to know he couldn't gauge, so he left the statement open to question if she had any. Or if she wanted nothing more, it could stay as it was. The difference in trying to help him purify to trying to kill him on providence of dream alone...I cannot read how much she still cares for him. Even in person. Cared. They were lovers. He did not say if he'd kept contact with her as Orah, or if he'd contacted Ida.

Whimsical Blue

Quenton didn't flinch to have eyes meet his at last. With no predictions, her actual reaction to the news couldn't provide surprise, either. But it was interesting. She looked startled and confused.



Rather than risk his voice carrying at all, Quenton shifted the two steps to stand leaned against the wall right next to her on the chair. He spoke softly, leaning on the gravel of his voice to make the just-above-whisper clear. "He was toying with Powers, to try to win freedom from his merging, still. I don't know all of what happened. Through the Looking Glass. Alois appeared after leaving in some dealing, limbs whole torn from his back. He bled out. I buried him. Not here, where his old tethers could hope to reach the body if they thought to make use of it. "




And I've not spoken to Zirconia since then. What has come of her starseed and leaking life. What she has to say of the Pyrite Crystal or Cassandra. If she's even still in this world, or has crossed over herself through Tartaros or some other. I don't know. I know so little of the fallout, except that Cassandra must be the slain 'her'. Alois dead.

"You were his lover. I wanted to tell you in person."

How her muscles and expression worked and shifted behind her care seemed genuine- there remained some sort of care in spite of all the things that had happened or beliefs she held contrary. It was the right choice to have done it in person, then, for regard and respect. "It is a better fate than portent promised. "

Quenton left the subject of 'deserving' and expectations uncommented. It speaks too much of personal judgements of self or of each other- and we do not know each other well. What use would arguing be protesting worth, or place of love in life in relation to duty or choice. It isn't the time for it. Nor do I expect we could remain cordial in it. Our views seem polar to each other from other forays. "Even though it leave as many question unanswered and toil unfinished. "

"Will you be alright? Physically, I mean, as the rest is usually turmoil. You're welcome to relax a while- have tea and cats. I could call someone to walk you home or somewhere else if you'd rather. I can try to answer other questions, or just listen. " He clarified, the last, "I am not, myself, an ideal haven. Our history is pocked with it. But the offer remains. Do not worry of offending me either way. Mourning has much individual need, and grace for that."

Does she realize that as much can be said by deliberately avoiding contact as by making it in a way you didn't intend? So pointed to cease eye contact. Anywhere but even near me or my sector of space. Perhaps even the offer from me is offensive.

Her suggestion of meeting and talking came as a surprise, derailing expectations. Quenton nodded mutely for a moment, voice finally catching up, "At your comfort and convenience, Orah. "

The lack of finishing the tea returned to expectations. He took her hand in a firm, confident shake and direct eye contact from practice with clients and Stroud's connections, "Thank you for being willing to come. "