[Jarod Nightingale] It's funny how having a kid can suddenly infuse holidays with the kind of innocent wonder that the parents themselves have long-since forgotten. Jarod Nightingale had not found Christmas to be particularly magical in a very long time. It was debatable that he'd ever been the kind of person who was capable of innocence - even when he was a child. Mostly, this time of year was filled with a deep and quiet regret. That is not to say that winter itself made him unhappy. In fact, quite the opposite. But there was always a few weeks in December where the world seemed to take on a somber hue. And of course, Christmas here was as much cliche as it was genuine celebration - complete with peppermint-stick lattes, happy holidays from Coca-cola, and 27 different versions of All I Want for Christmas being played over the sound system in every store and every mall across the city. It was the bloated beast of commercialism in all its bedecked glory. Moreover, it was just plain tacky. And Jarod hated tackiness with an icy passion.
But he did not actually hate Christmas. At least, not this year.
Jarod had braved the crowds downtown, as well as the snow, in order to finish up a last bit of holiday shopping. Considering the fact that he was spending the holiday with all of two people, one might think that he wouldn't have had much shopping to do at all. But there were gifts to be sent to his family in Dallas, and others to be given to co-workers. There was also Nick, and Ashley... and Emily. Strange, how one could acquire so many relationships without ever looking for them.
And of course, being a new parent with an extremely large disposable income... he was inclined to spoil his daughter. And so the storage area in the basement of his building had slowly begun to fill up with secret things things that would ultimately become piles of gifts beneath the the newly-acquired tree in his living room.
Shopping at this time of year could become tiring, though. And thus, a small break was very much necessitated. Add in the promise of hot tea, and he was reasonably content. This was what had brought him to Argo a few minutes ago, where he was presently ensconced at a table by the window, drinking a large mug of green tea (dragons well) as he absently scanned an article in the day's newspaper. A trio of shopping bags lay at his feet. The outside one was from a high-end children's clothing boutique.
[Jacques-Marcel] People. The shops are just a sea of people. Breathing, moving, flitting amongst each other. At first he could ignore it, simply move on his way. But as the hours increased that he was pushed along with the throng, the more suffocating they became. He could feel them pressing in around him, making it harder to, not only move, but breathe. By the time he managed to slip out the crowd, and into Argo's, his temples are throbbing and the veins along them are softly pronounced.
He's almost forgotten about the few bags in his hand, dangling down by his side. Stress lines work the edges of his eyes as he scans around, and smooths his free hand down the front of his shirt. He's wearing a jacket, black against the pale silver-blue he wears beneath. His jeans are not-too-faded denim, shoes a sports style loafer. He looks entirely casual to blend in, as much as a prettier face like his can. It's the tall way he stands and the formal posture that stands out.
From the counter he orders himself a coffee, sweetened with sugar and cream, and once's he's paid and it's served he walks away to find a table. He's not paying particular attention, unlike the time at the bar. Instead he's trying to ignore the wall of faces that are everywhere he turns. He's only looking for a spare seat.
[Jarod Nightingale] There weren't many spare seats to be had in Argo tonight. It was located in the heart of the shopping district, and Jarod and Jacques certainly weren't the only people who'd had the notion to get off their feet for a few minutes and have something hot to drink. In fact, it seemed as though all of the tables were occupied. There were a few seats along the wall, which would have required that the model endure the press of nearby bodies. There was also Jarod, whose small table still had a spare seat open. His head was bent, eyes trained on the newspaper in front of him, so he didn't initially notice the other man walk in. But he was alert today, and completely sober, so it didn't take long for him to glance up and give a brief scan of his surroundings, absently noting any changes in the thrum of humanity around him.
This was when he spotted Jacques. There was a moment of aloof contemplation, then he raised his hand and made a small gesture of greeting to alert the blond to his presence. Not that it was easy to miss him. Jarod stood out, to both mortals and mages alike. He was an exotic predator - something seemingly too perfect and graceful to be human (something rather more... catlike.)
He was dressed a little more casually than he had been on their previous encounter. There was a pair of dark-tinted jeans and a deep burgundy sweater layered over a white collared button-down. Hanging on the back of his chair (and folded neatly so that it wouldn't touch the ground) was an expensive black wool coat.
[Jacques-Marcel] It's less about the waving hand and more about the thrum of air that Jarod gave off. Jacques had looked right at him in that moment, blinking just once and wondering how on earth he had missed that the other was sitting there, and how long he may have been trying to grab his attention. He doesn't know if he can deal with the Mage right then. But there's a spare chair and he's not in a hurry to throw himself back into the masses outside. It wasn't that being in here was comfortable either, with the noise levels, but at least he could try and unwind.
Approaching, he set down his coffee and pulled out the seat. His bags were gently placed on the ground and his long legs shifted to the side, mindful of other shoes under the table, as well as the bags there. "Braving the madness?" he asks the other, low toned and in jest.
There hadn't been any calls between them. Jacques hadn't even offered a number. If Jarod really wanted to get in touch, he knew where the Consor lived anyway. It had been a one night thing, with the knowledge that it's possible they were going to run into each other again anyway, considering the circles they both run in.
From his pocket he pulls out his wallet and begins to flip through it. His gaze flickers around; watches Jarod, the people in the tea-shop, down to what he's doing. Hunting out several pills in foil, over the counter painkillers for migraine, he popped two out in the palm of his hand as he begins conversation.
[Jarod Nightingale] Jarod did not carry around painkillers of any variety. He didn't get migraines. At least, not the kind that weren't caused by paradox. When Jacques pulled them out, his eyes flicked briefly down to the man's hand, but he didn't vocalize any question or concern. And if indeed he had the capability of assisting through some supernatural means (he did,) such was not openly offered. Not for something as minor as a headache. Not in the midst of a crowd of Sleepers.
Jacques asked if he was braving the madness. Jarod smiled a little out of one side of his mouth. "It's not so bad. They usually give me a bit of room." He wasn't particularly fond of crowds, but he could handle them well enough - usually without having to resort to gently nudging them with his Will.
He glanced at the mug of coffee in front of the other model and chuckled quietly. "Not a tea drinker, I'm guessing." Jarod was most assuredly a tea drinker. There was an entire cabinet in his flat that was full of jars containing premium grades of loose-leaf tea. Much better than anything he could get here, but one took what they could get under the circumstances.
[Jacques-Marcel] Nodding, he could understood why the others gave him some room, but it went without comment. He swallowed down pills with a wash of hot liquid, and began to ease himself back in the chair. There wouldn't be any relaxation coming for awhile, but he could at least attempt to try and get some tension to unwind and focus on the other before him.
"Not since I was ten," he answered with a light laugh. He suddenly remembers home life. That time he was that age and everything before it. There were some good times in there, and it appears as though drinking tea was one of them. "Tea after school with a side dish of croissants, and plenty of evasive answers of how the day had been." It had been an attempt of his mothers to bridge a gap, and the rest he'd rather forget.
Dropping his direct gaze down from Jarods, he looks into his cup, where fingers from one hand are still gently curled around, and lifts his thumb from where it was resting to touch the brim. "What's wrong with coffee?" He manages amusement, even if his head is splitting, leaving pulsing shadows in the edges of his vision. He's a little pale, pasty.
[Jarod Nightingale] Jacques mentioned tea and croissants when he was a child, and Jarod listened as he lifted his own mug to his lips and took a slow, thoughtful sip of the delicate, fragrant tea within. His eyes remained on the other man as he spoke, watching with a kind of attentive curiosity. You would almost not guess that these two had been intimate recently. They knew each other's bodies, but they did not know each other. There was none of the familiarity one might expect, but neither of them seemed bothered or concerned by this. It was what it was. At the least, Jarod seemed more than capable of interacting with a recent one-night-stand without any semblance of awkwardness. It was something he did frequently, and he didn't feel the need to behave any differently than normal with someone just because he'd slept with them.
(Well... flirting aside.)
"Mm, evasion goes so well with tea - don't you think?" It was a playful remark, and one based in a kind of shared experience. He'd certainly done his fair share of parental evasion when he was young. Though, in truth... his parents had never bothered to ask any of the right questions. If they had, perhaps they would have gotten an answer. (Or... perhaps not.) But ten was a bad year for him (a very bad year,) and he'd rather not remember it.
Jacques asked him what was wrong with coffee.
"Well, aside from the caffeine... nothing in particular. I just find it amusing that you came to a tea shop to order coffee. It's a bit like asking for a steak at a sushi restaurant. Though... I do hear that the coffee here is not bad."
[Jacques-Marcel] "Evasion goes with anything and everything." That's his firm opinion. Evasion is something he does very well. He may give part answers or half truths, he may even answer honestly, but it's almost always when he knows that the other would expect him of lying anyway. It's that sort of manipulation that is long learned and comes without second thought. There's not a single person in the city that can claim to know who Jacques is, or much about his history. Only what they have experienced, which are slivers of it here and there. Evasion and denial sums up the majority of his lifestyle.
He drinks from his cup, swallowing down hot liquid quickly. It leaves a burn on the back of his tongue, but that's one of the best things about drinking hot beverages, especially in winter. "Caffeine is why you have coffee. It's certainly not for the taste. Besides, doesn't tea contain caffeine?" Jacques brows raise. He suspects that Jarod is probably drinking one without caffeine, considering his earlier remark, but it doesn't stop him being a mild thorn.
[Jarod Nightingale] This was something that had come up before in their conversations, this contrariness for its own sake. Jarod's reaction to this now was fairly dismissive, largely because the debate at hand wasn't interesting or personal enough for him to have any investment in it. He shrugged, as if he found the question moot, and took another sip of his drink. "Most of it does, yes. Not in portions that would be comparable to coffee. Green tea has very little."
In the crowded cafe, Jacques wouldn't be able to hear the gentle buzz of vibration that sounded in Jarod's coat pocket, but a moment later the Verbena set his mug down and turned to extract his iPhone. Whatever message he read there, it was evidently something that needed his attention, because he sent a quick reply, then made a quick go of finishing off the last of his tea. "Speaking of evasion, I'm afraid I have to get going." He stood up and grabbed his coat off the back of the chair, sliding his arms into the sleeves. The iPhone got tucked back into the inside pocket before he began buttoning it closed. When he was ready, he reached down to pick up the bags he'd left resting at his feet.
Jacques was afforded a momentary gaze. Something quietly contemplative. Then Jarod smiled, the expression quietly seductive (and perhaps a little knowing.) "Have a good holiday."
A moment later, he'd slipped through the door and back out into the city.
