[ Of course Jeff knows to check out Ash's. Every witch in Savannah whose magic runs on the darker end of the spectrum knows Ash's. It's just that the proprietor, the eponymous Ash, can be a grade-A dick at times, and Jeff would rather avoid such unpleasantness if and when possible.
But he can't deny the man knows his shit, and when it comes to those hard-to-find tomes, there's no better place to go. Not like the pitifully small magic section at Barnes & Noble would have what he's looking for, anyway.
...
After all, he already checked. ]
Come on, come on...
[ What's he scouring the shelves for? Just some out-of-print recipe book from the 60s. Culinary Curses: A Kitchen Witch's Guide to Spellcraft. ]
[ She's got the day off from the florist, and more often than not anymore, she spends her time at the bookstore, even on days when Ash isn't teaching her. He's not paying her, but she still takes time to shelve books that have come in or help customers who look lost.
She's seen this man in here a couple of times, though he's quick to come and go. This time, though, he looks a little desperate.
Dahlia pokes her head around the stacks, eyebrows raised in query. ]
[ Jeff's crouched down, peering at the books on the bottom-most shelf, when he jumps back upright at the sound of a voice-- a helpful, friendly voice, which is practically unheard of in this shop (so much so that it's somehow more startling than Ash's familiar baritone would've been). ]
Uh. Hi! Hello. Yes-- sorry, hang on.
[ One sec, it's going to take his brain a moment to catch up with his mouth. He points at the young woman, brow furrowed in confusion. ]
You work here?
[ Pardon him, it's just. You know. Unexpected. Then again, Jeff's not exactly a regular customer, and he keeps his visits as brief as possible (and there's always about a 50% chance he's stoned), so he tends to miss things at times. ]
[ Her face is certainly less surly than the one that usually sits behind the counter, although right now she looks a little embarrassed. ] Yes! I mean. No. I mean. It's complicated.
[ He finds himself repeating her words somewhat bemusedly, holding at bay the questions that immediately spring to his mind, because at the end of the day: it's not his business.
Right now, his business is finding this book, which-- damn, she doesn't have a name tag-- is offering to help him with, so he might as well take her up on it. ]
Oh. Yeah. I'm looking for a book.
[ NAILED IT.
No, wait, he didn't nail it. That's so far from nailing it. ]
A cookbook. Culinary Curses? [ A beat. ] That's just the name. I'm not planning on cooking a batch of cursed brownies and setting them loose on the PTA or anything. [ Though, when he puts it like that, it sounds like that's exactly what he's planned. Another beat, and then he adds: ]
It's for my daughter. To read. As one... does... with books...
[ please stop him ]
Edited (NOW I HAVE BETTER ICONS) 2018-05-15 14:30 (UTC)
[ She considers, for a brief second. It's probably not in the way way back, but it's also not going to be up here with the more mundane magic books, either. She casts a furtive glance at the (currently empty) register.
Well, this guy seems to know what he needs. And he did say he's not planning on cursing the PTA or anything. Ash would probably sell to him, right?? ]
I think it's this way.
[ She beckons him to follow her, towards the back! ]
So... I know Ash can be a little... [ "bit of an asshole"-- no, let's find a polite way to say this. ] particular about which books he sells. This isn't gonna cause any trouble, is it?
[It's ten minutes past the agreed upon time. Cam knows, because he arrived fifteen minutes ago, and has been checking his watch ever since. He runs on military time. If you're not early, you're late. Which makes Jeff Calhoun doubly late.
If this man weren't his daughter's teacher, he didn't have that smile, and this wasn't as much an apology as it is a first date? Cam wouldn't have waited around.
He's not going to dinner and some overpriced and overhyped musical on a Friday night by himself.
Number 1, he fucking hates musicals. Number 2, he made reservations. Number 3, no one stands up Cameron Waltz. No one.
Cam doesn't cross his arms over his chest, or tap his foot, but he doesn't need to. It's amazing what human beings can communicate with their eyes alone.
Cam saves his diplomacy for the job. In his personal life? He's far less patient.]
[ Okay, but consider this: in Californian stoner time, Jeff's actually early. Five more minutes, and he'd be just in time. Twenty more, and then he'd be late.
And anyway, he tried to make it to the restaurant earlier, but parking was a nightmare!
...
Okay, fine, it wasn't. Actually, he was able to find a parking spot pretty easily. It's more that the thought of dinner and a show with Mr. Waltz, the terrifying father of his most terrifying student, is, you know. Terrifying. Honestly, he should've politely declined the tickets, but Mr. Waltz was trying to apologize for insulting his competence and professionalism, and damn it, Jeff's just got too agreeable a nature. Awkward as this all is, they'll probably just pass the evening talking about Cameron's daughter and other work stuff.
Plus, it's Hamilton, and there's not a chance in hell he'd ever be able to get tickets to that on his own.
But anyway, back to the terror: he needed to take a few moments to listen to some music and decompress. Chill. Maybe take a hit-- just one!-- because he's responsible enough not to do that before getting behind the wheel of his car.
And it's a damn good thing he did take such measures to keep his nerves at bay, because if he were totally 100% sober right now, that level (JUDGMENTAL) stare and blunt observation of his tardiness would immediately turn his spine to jelly. ]
Hi-- sorry, uh. [ He jerks a thumb back at the entrance, as if to gesture at the great wide world beyond the restaurant. ] Parking. You know? [ Articulate. A look of worry begins to cross his face. ] We didn't lose our table or anything, did we? If we did, I know a place, just... a ways...
[ Okay, so his spine's not jelly, but it's not exactly made of steel, either. ]
No. Our reservation is for five minutes from now. We aren't late to the restaurant. Yet.
[The perks of planning with a fifteen minute cushion. One never knows when the Jeff Calhoun's of the world will show up.
He claps a hand on Jeff's shoulder and starts walking, knowing the other man will fall into step. Jeff struggles to control a classroom of preteens. A natural-born leader he is not.
That's fine with Cam. Truthfully, he's not looking for someone who would be inclined to challenge him. He doesn't have the time or energy for it. He's a busy man, and he's not interested in playing pointless games. Not on this level.
His idea of chess is world-scale.
The restaurant is just around the corner from the theatre. There are plenty of popular, intensely crowded places on the block, but as they walk, they're moving farther and farther away from them. Until they reach a small corner restaurant with dim lighting that almost isn't there if you don't know where to look. There may be a simple glamour that keeps those without reservations away, in order to preserve the quiet atmosphere.
Cam holds the door open for Jeff. The scent of mint, cardamom and dark wine drift out.]
[ Hey, they're teenagers, not preteens, which makes them even more difficult to control, and you know what, he should just turn around and leave!
Except he won't, because 1) he's not privy to Cam's internal monologue and 2) Cam's assumption is completely, 100% correct. Jeff follows his lead easily, since it's not like he knows where, exactly, the restaurant is. Nervously and unnecessarily, he smooths down his shirt, just to give his hands something to do before he opts to just shove them into his pockets. Soon enough, they're at a little place, hidden away from the usual pre-show crowd, and the door's being held for him. ]
Oh. Thanks... [ The word's dragged out a touch too long, mainly because Jeff's soon distracted by the restaurant itself, looking around at the neat decor. Shit, he's hungry. Which makes sense, this being dinnertime and all. ]
Tunisian. Huh... [ He nods, as if he's well-acquainted with Tunisian food. (He's not. At best he's an amateur, a rube, when it comes to the cuisine.) ] Smells good.
[ Why is small talk a thing. He wonders if they can just eat in manly, impersonal silence, or if that might be too weird. ]
It is good. I like this place. The owner is a friend of mine. I helped him come stateside a while back.
[More or less legally.
It's a beautiful little restaurant, keyword 'little' at only ten or so tables, set apart from the other more popular, crowded venues on the street by virtue of its rustic charm, and an atmosphere that's more warm and inviting than trendy or photogenic.
They're welcomed immediately by a small, round man with silver hair in a faded red apron with a bright smile. He exchanged greetings with Cam in Arabic, hugging him and kissing his cheek, Cam returns the gesture with practiced, comfortable ease. The man looks to Jeff with a smile, offering his right hand to shake.
He ushers them to a table nestled comfortably in the corner, partially shrouded by tapestries, and gestures for a tray of tea to move itself from the nearby counter, floating in the air in front of them for a moment before settling gently on the surface. The silver teapot fills both small, glass cups to the brim with strongly steeped mint tea.]
Thank you, Karim. [Karim hurries away to grab them menus, returns with a smile to converse for just a moment longer in Arabic to Cam before disappearing back into the kitchen.]
He says they have a stewed leg of lamb that's not on the menu, if we'd like to share.
[ Jeff watches the exchange with a somewhat bemused expression, surprised to see Mr. Waltz being warm and friendly with another person. Well. With another person besides JJ (apple of Cameron's eye, and star of Jeff's work-related nightmares). But when the owner turns his attention to Jeff, he shakes the man's hand, his own smile open and genuine. It looks like he may be more at ease with Karim than Cameron.
Because Karim doesn't scare the shit out of him. ]
Oh, this is cozy. [ That's his agreeable (and slightly cautious) remark as they're ushered to their table, with the tapestries granting a sense of privacy, where he's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Mainly because he doesn't know if his problem student's father is going to rip into him now that they're shielded by tapestries or what. ] Thanks, Karim. [ ANOTHER SMILE. This time with a nervous undercurrent, as if to say "If he starts yelling... please send for help."
Except, when he leaves... Cam continues to be perfectly... nice. Jeff lifts his brows, as if he'd been waiting for a shoe to drop that still hangs over his head or... you know, you can supply the metaphor yourself, he's not an English teacher. ]
Is it... something you'd recommend?
[ Because hell, he's not paying for dinner, so he's in that weird boat of "shit, what can I order that won't make me look like I'm a greedy freeloader." ]
[ Officially, The Grindhouse doesn't really cater to any one crowd. Dark, light, witch, human, anyone can show up. But given the general, uh, griminess of the venue, it tends to attract a certain type. Let's just say, this is the kind of place where somebody like Dahlia sticks out like a bright green thumb.
(GET IT? IDK)
But hey, the drinks are dirt cheap, and the band's pretty cool, right? The Nervous Tix, a local group that's kind of punk, kind of grunge, and fronted by a dark witch who works his magic through song. (And who also happened to go to high school with Ash.) It's the perfect setup for a great show.
Or... you know, a really loud show with a completely insane mosh pit, a violently enthusiastic audience all hopped up on dark magic.
After the show wraps up, the club goes from a wild frenzy to a pretty sedate, chill atmosphere. People are worn out and relaxed, drinking and chatting. It's about twenty minutes after the band leaves the stage that Jeff (Mr. Frontman himself) wanders out from backstage, hair still damp with sweat, even as he's got a fresh t-shirt on. Wow, it's like he almost made an effort to clean up. That's how you know you're special, guys. ]
[ He'd told Dahlia before coming that they didn't have to stay if she didn't want to, but it's just as much an out for him as for her, and at her answering enthusiasm he'd only braced himself. Ash's appearance fits in better here than his manner — he's always been quiet, always kept to a table on the sidelines while Marisol disappeared into the mosh pit after unsuccessfully attempting to pull him in with her.
At least this time he's got the excuse of Dahlia, who seems to be trying to make herself as small as possible and using him as a shield. He can actually sympathize; he didn't always blend in himself, in his slacks and cardigans and button-downs.
All that said, he doesn't hate coming these days, and he makes a habit of not going places he doesn't want to be (unless Dahlia asks him to, a recent development, but even she's chosen her battles since the Whole Foods incident). At seventeen he'd been getting just angry enough — at his mother, at himself — to enjoy Jeff's music, if only for being a far cry from the classical he grew up with. It's familiar by now, could be worse, and he still gets something out of it even if he's not in the thick of things. ]
Good show, man, [ he says when Jeff makes his ways over. Ash doesn't make any special effort to stand, but he's facing him in his chair, which for Ash is downright friendly. ]
When Ash had told her they could leave if she felt uncomfortable, she'd refused, wanting to support his friends — he rarely leaves the store, and Dahlia doesn't push him to. It just means that when he does choose to go out, she wants to make the most of it, for his sake.
Which is why they're still here. She's not scared, per se, even if the music is louder than she's used to and the crowd seems less than savory. Just. Nervous. Glad Ash is with her. She can feel the hum of the dark magic swirling around her, but wisely keeps from reaching out to it. She doesn't think anyone would really appreciate her vomiting all over the table.
She does smile when Jeff approaches. But she can't really find her voice to say anything. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
text | phone call | action | prose | etc
FOR DAHLIA
But he can't deny the man knows his shit, and when it comes to those hard-to-find tomes, there's no better place to go. Not like the pitifully small magic section at Barnes & Noble would have what he's looking for, anyway.
...
After all, he already checked. ]
Come on, come on...
[ What's he scouring the shelves for? Just some out-of-print recipe book from the 60s. Culinary Curses: A Kitchen Witch's Guide to Spellcraft. ]
no subject
She's seen this man in here a couple of times, though he's quick to come and go. This time, though, he looks a little desperate.
Dahlia pokes her head around the stacks, eyebrows raised in query. ]
Can I help you find something, sir?
no subject
Uh. Hi! Hello. Yes-- sorry, hang on.
[ One sec, it's going to take his brain a moment to catch up with his mouth. He points at the young woman, brow furrowed in confusion. ]
You work here?
[ Pardon him, it's just. You know. Unexpected. Then again, Jeff's not exactly a regular customer, and he keeps his visits as brief as possible (and there's always about a 50% chance he's stoned), so he tends to miss things at times. ]
no subject
[ Nevermind that! ]
Is there something you were trying to find?
no subject
[ He finds himself repeating her words somewhat bemusedly, holding at bay the questions that immediately spring to his mind, because at the end of the day: it's not his business.
Right now, his business is finding this book, which-- damn, she doesn't have a name tag-- is offering to help him with, so he might as well take her up on it. ]
Oh. Yeah. I'm looking for a book.
[ NAILED IT.
No, wait, he didn't nail it. That's so far from nailing it. ]
A cookbook. Culinary Curses? [ A beat. ] That's just the name. I'm not planning on cooking a batch of cursed brownies and setting them loose on the PTA or anything. [ Though, when he puts it like that, it sounds like that's exactly what he's planned. Another beat, and then he adds: ]
It's for my daughter. To read. As one... does... with books...
[ please stop him ]
no subject
Well, this guy seems to know what he needs. And he did say he's not planning on cursing the PTA or anything. Ash would probably sell to him, right?? ]
I think it's this way.
[ She beckons him to follow her, towards the back! ]
What's your daughter's name?
no subject
[ Best dad ever. ]
That's not what we named her after.
[ IN CASE YOU WERE WONDERING. ]
So... I know Ash can be a little... [ "bit of an asshole"-- no, let's find a polite way to say this. ] particular about which books he sells. This isn't gonna cause any trouble, is it?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
no subject
If this man weren't his daughter's teacher, he didn't have that smile, and this wasn't as much an apology as it is a first date? Cam wouldn't have waited around.
He's not going to dinner and some overpriced and overhyped musical on a Friday night by himself.
Number 1, he fucking hates musicals.
Number 2, he made reservations.
Number 3, no one stands up Cameron Waltz. No one.
Cam doesn't cross his arms over his chest, or tap his foot, but he doesn't need to. It's amazing what human beings can communicate with their eyes alone.
Cam saves his diplomacy for the job. In his personal life? He's far less patient.]
Good evening Mr. Calhoun.
You're late.
no subject
And anyway, he tried to make it to the restaurant earlier, but parking was a nightmare!
...
Okay, fine, it wasn't. Actually, he was able to find a parking spot pretty easily. It's more that the thought of dinner and a show with Mr. Waltz, the terrifying father of his most terrifying student, is, you know. Terrifying. Honestly, he should've politely declined the tickets, but Mr. Waltz was trying to apologize for insulting his competence and professionalism, and damn it, Jeff's just got too agreeable a nature. Awkward as this all is, they'll probably just pass the evening talking about Cameron's daughter and other work stuff.
Plus, it's Hamilton, and there's not a chance in hell he'd ever be able to get tickets to that on his own.
But anyway, back to the terror: he needed to take a few moments to listen to some music and decompress. Chill. Maybe take a hit-- just one!-- because he's responsible enough not to do that before getting behind the wheel of his car.
And it's a damn good thing he did take such measures to keep his nerves at bay, because if he were totally 100% sober right now, that level (JUDGMENTAL) stare and blunt observation of his tardiness would immediately turn his spine to jelly. ]
Hi-- sorry, uh. [ He jerks a thumb back at the entrance, as if to gesture at the great wide world beyond the restaurant. ] Parking. You know?
[ Articulate. A look of worry begins to cross his face. ] We didn't lose our table or anything, did we? If we did, I know a place, just... a ways...
[ Okay, so his spine's not jelly, but it's not exactly made of steel, either. ]
no subject
[The perks of planning with a fifteen minute cushion. One never knows when the Jeff Calhoun's of the world will show up.
He claps a hand on Jeff's shoulder and starts walking, knowing the other man will fall into step. Jeff struggles to control a classroom of preteens. A natural-born leader he is not.
That's fine with Cam. Truthfully, he's not looking for someone who would be inclined to challenge him. He doesn't have the time or energy for it. He's a busy man, and he's not interested in playing pointless games. Not on this level.
His idea of chess is world-scale.
The restaurant is just around the corner from the theatre. There are plenty of popular, intensely crowded places on the block, but as they walk, they're moving farther and farther away from them. Until they reach a small corner restaurant with dim lighting that almost isn't there if you don't know where to look. There may be a simple glamour that keeps those without reservations away, in order to preserve the quiet atmosphere.
Cam holds the door open for Jeff. The scent of mint, cardamom and dark wine drift out.]
It's Tunisian.
no subject
Except he won't, because 1) he's not privy to Cam's internal monologue and 2) Cam's assumption is completely, 100% correct. Jeff follows his lead easily, since it's not like he knows where, exactly, the restaurant is. Nervously and unnecessarily, he smooths down his shirt, just to give his hands something to do before he opts to just shove them into his pockets. Soon enough, they're at a little place, hidden away from the usual pre-show crowd, and the door's being held for him. ]
Oh. Thanks... [ The word's dragged out a touch too long, mainly because Jeff's soon distracted by the restaurant itself, looking around at the neat decor. Shit, he's hungry. Which makes sense, this being dinnertime and all. ]
Tunisian. Huh... [ He nods, as if he's well-acquainted with Tunisian food. (He's not. At best he's an amateur, a rube, when it comes to the cuisine.) ] Smells good.
[ Why is small talk a thing. He wonders if they can just eat in manly, impersonal silence, or if that might be too weird. ]
no subject
[More or less legally.
It's a beautiful little restaurant, keyword 'little' at only ten or so tables, set apart from the other more popular, crowded venues on the street by virtue of its rustic charm, and an atmosphere that's more warm and inviting than trendy or photogenic.
They're welcomed immediately by a small, round man with silver hair in a faded red apron with a bright smile. He exchanged greetings with Cam in Arabic, hugging him and kissing his cheek, Cam returns the gesture with practiced, comfortable ease. The man looks to Jeff with a smile, offering his right hand to shake.
He ushers them to a table nestled comfortably in the corner, partially shrouded by tapestries, and gestures for a tray of tea to move itself from the nearby counter, floating in the air in front of them for a moment before settling gently on the surface. The silver teapot fills both small, glass cups to the brim with strongly steeped mint tea.]
Thank you, Karim. [Karim hurries away to grab them menus, returns with a smile to converse for just a moment longer in Arabic to Cam before disappearing back into the kitchen.]
He says they have a stewed leg of lamb that's not on the menu, if we'd like to share.
no subject
Because Karim doesn't scare the shit out of him. ]
Oh, this is cozy. [ That's his agreeable (and slightly cautious) remark as they're ushered to their table, with the tapestries granting a sense of privacy, where he's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Mainly because he doesn't know if his problem student's father is going to rip into him now that they're shielded by tapestries or what. ] Thanks, Karim. [ ANOTHER SMILE. This time with a nervous undercurrent, as if to say "If he starts yelling... please send for help."
Except, when he leaves... Cam continues to be perfectly... nice. Jeff lifts his brows, as if he'd been waiting for a shoe to drop that still hangs over his head or... you know, you can supply the metaphor yourself, he's not an English teacher. ]
Is it... something you'd recommend?
[ Because hell, he's not paying for dinner, so he's in that weird boat of "shit, what can I order that won't make me look like I'm a greedy freeloader." ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
DARK & LIGHT
(GET IT? IDK)
But hey, the drinks are dirt cheap, and the band's pretty cool, right? The Nervous Tix, a local group that's kind of punk, kind of grunge, and fronted by a dark witch who works his magic through song. (And who also happened to go to high school with Ash.) It's the perfect setup for a great show.
Or... you know, a really loud show with a completely insane mosh pit, a violently enthusiastic audience all hopped up on dark magic.
After the show wraps up, the club goes from a wild frenzy to a pretty sedate, chill atmosphere. People are worn out and relaxed, drinking and chatting. It's about twenty minutes after the band leaves the stage that Jeff (Mr. Frontman himself) wanders out from backstage, hair still damp with sweat, even as he's got a fresh t-shirt on. Wow, it's like he almost made an effort to clean up. That's how you know you're special, guys. ]
no subject
At least this time he's got the excuse of Dahlia, who seems to be trying to make herself as small as possible and using him as a shield. He can actually sympathize; he didn't always blend in himself, in his slacks and cardigans and button-downs.
All that said, he doesn't hate coming these days, and he makes a habit of not going places he doesn't want to be (unless Dahlia asks him to, a recent development, but even she's chosen her battles since the Whole Foods incident). At seventeen he'd been getting just angry enough — at his mother, at himself — to enjoy Jeff's music, if only for being a far cry from the classical he grew up with. It's familiar by now, could be worse, and he still gets something out of it even if he's not in the thick of things. ]
Good show, man, [ he says when Jeff makes his ways over. Ash doesn't make any special effort to stand, but he's facing him in his chair, which for Ash is downright friendly. ]
no subject
When Ash had told her they could leave if she felt uncomfortable, she'd refused, wanting to support his friends — he rarely leaves the store, and Dahlia doesn't push him to. It just means that when he does choose to go out, she wants to make the most of it, for his sake.
Which is why they're still here. She's not scared, per se, even if the music is louder than she's used to and the crowd seems less than savory. Just. Nervous. Glad Ash is with her. She can feel the hum of the dark magic swirling around her, but wisely keeps from reaching out to it. She doesn't think anyone would really appreciate her vomiting all over the table.
She does smile when Jeff approaches. But she can't really find her voice to say anything. ]
TFLN OVERFLOW
2. there is definitely a hickey on my left nipple...
3. Sometimes I like to get high and swim cause it makes me feel like a fish
4. That still doesn't explain why you thought it was a good idea to paint a cow on my guitar
5. have you seen my weed? It's not in my birkenstock shoe box, I already checked
6. TEXT HIM.
5
is it by the bed?
no subject
[ A minute later: ]
wait!!!!
[ Fifteen or so minutes later: ]
it was under the bed! Along with one of my Birkenstock's!!
(Sorry forgot to hit send)
no subject
I'm surprised there's any left after last night
no subject
there's just a liiiiiiiittle bit left... Definitely not enough for another night like yesterday
no subject
seems more appropriate
we'll have to fix that
get you restocked
my treat this time
1/2
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
1/2
2/2
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
3
sorry for the MEGA DELAY, work unexpectedly turned my life upside down!
it's very relaxing!
(side note: make sure there's a life guard around first)
no subject