Owl+Scarred+Emilee

 “Don’t you have anything smaller?”  “I’m sorry,” he said, tight-lipped. “I only pay with ten-dollar bills.”  Linda rolled her eyes, snatching the crisp bill from his gloved hand. “Seven-seventy-five is your change, sir, thank-you and //do// enjoy your frothy beverage…”  “Thank-you, Linda.” he hummed weakly in a slight sing-song, lightly grasping the disposable cup and careful not to touch the warning—‘ Caution! The beverage you’re about to enjoy is extremely hot!’  “Actually…” he clacked a black shoe smartly against the hardwood, “//actually,// Linda…” he trailed off again, eyeing a dry cream cake that had greeted many teen rebels in search of a good free-trade latte a crusty ‘good-morning’ for the past two weeks, “do you think anyone is going to buy that?”  Linda locked eyes with him, pressing her thick rimmed glasses a little higher on her nose. “Sir—” she started.  “Um, I mean, that’s not what I mean, that is, how much?” he stuttered with a strained chuckle, playing with the bit of his thin-rimmed glasses just above his ear.  A quick pause. She popped her gum. “Seven-seventy-five.”  Without a word, lips tight and white, he handed the crumpled bills back to her. *  Slicking back his gelled hair, he tried to ignore the couple a few seats away from him, because they were teens sharing quiche and comparing bands he’d never heard before and supposed didn’t really exist. Instead, he pulled out a tiny picture book from his thick trench-coat pocket and flipped through, gazing wistfully at all the bright pictures of fish eggs and seaweed and wasabi.  And snapped it close a few minutes later, annoyed with hearing the names “Fleet Foxes” and “Radical Face” and “Neon Indian” uttered for the thousandth time in the span of one-hundred-eighty seconds. To take his mind off of it, he let his thoughts wander.  Perhaps it was the atmosphere. Expensive, quaintly-decorated coffee-shops were always the best places for poor musicians and failing poets to receive inspiration, where they’d scrawl something meaningful on a napkin or their clammy palm after a salt shaker jogged a particularly angst-filled memory, and they’d turn it into a song and go on to be famous, or at least less-starving. Why wouldn’t it work for him too? <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Blinking slowly, resting his chin on laced-up fingers, Trevor sighed idly through his nose. He only needed the opportunity. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Trevor turned his attention back to the idiot-couple, who were throwing around terms like “liberal nationalists.” The man had an annoying sloppy grin plastered across his cheeks. Trevor tried to concentrate on pictures of sushi. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Suddenly, “Hey, can I borrow your salt? Quiche is a little bland today.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Which was when Trevor noticed the slumped back, the tufted ears, the cruel, curved beak—the icy glint of a golden eye. A terrifying monster was asking to borrow his saltshaker. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> What happened next was a blur. However, despite his extreme confusion and terror, Trevor managed to remember three things: there had been a flurry of garbled words (possibly expletives), a brief struggle (possibly he won), and a clump of hair. Possibly his own. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">* <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Trevor was sulking on a snowy sidewalk when a voice approached him from his side. “Hi there. My name’s Mercy. I saw you in there, a while ago, what happened…” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> He hadn’t meant to ignore her, but after he’d accidentally assaulted the hipster in the unmentionable sweater, Trevor decided he couldn’t be too careful. He rolled up a richly-patterned sleeve, plucking at the thin glove he wore. He thought about his abandoned cream-cake and squished his toes inside his shiny black shoes. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “I like the way you handled that situation. Very tactful. Held your ground.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Possibly that was sarcasm. “Uh-huh.” He looked at her from the corner of his eye—just a smudgy blur bobbing on the washed-out landscape. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “I couldn’t help but notice the book you were reading. Required reading, right? You study at NIS.” Trevor’s eyes flickered as he looked at her fully. Her nose was pink from the cold, and she rubbed it because it was probably numb, or maybe she was just worried it had grown an inch or two. “I’ve just started too. Culinary technology.” He didn’t have the heart to correct her. Instead he wanted to ask what she studied in ‘culinary technology.’ It sounded important. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Well, maybe I’ll see you around.” She slowed her pace. “Take care,” she sung with a dip of her head, and the snow crunched extra-loudly as she fell back and turned a corner. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">* <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Uncle Trevor? You mean the one with the missing finger and the ratty yellow goatee?” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Seamus, that’s a dear relative you’re talking about.” the boy’s mom scolded lowly. “Please treat him just like you’d treat Aunt Marissa?” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “You mean like he has bunions?” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> From the icy chill of the boot-room, a vein, just above Trevor’s right eye, twitched. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Seamus!” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “But he wears kimonos. And Indian bracelets. And an imitation Rolex. He smells like //shoe polish.//” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “That doesn’t have anything to do with—” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “I’m here!” Trevor suddenly called, extra-loudly. “Lisa, is Seamus ready to go?” Pacing from foot to foot, he slung a gray trench-coat over steaming shoulders. “Lisa!” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “For God’s sake Trevor, just come in!” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “I can’t!” he called back, childishly. “It takes too long to put my shoes back on!” He blinked, blankly considering their perfect, tightly-laced criss-crosses. He shifted awkwardly. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> A nose poked around the corner as his sister peered suspiciously at him. A saggy brown bun settled limply at the top of her head. She had inherited most of the mousier traits. “He’s all bundled up and ready to go.” Seamus stepped out in jeans and a turtle-neck sweater. “Have him back by six, will you?” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Is it possible if it’s sooner?” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Seamus rolled his eyes and scuffed his shoes on the hardwood. “Mum why couldn’t I just have gone to Dan’s house instead?” He splashed at a small puddle of melted ice from Trevor’s pant leg. “I don’t see why I have to hang around //this—”//A shrewd warning look. Pursed lips which dared him to finish that sentence. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “The feeling’s mutual.” Trevor told his nephew drily, ignoring how his sister was now confused of who to scold. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Go on, you two.” she said instead with a jagged smile as she hustled over to hurry them out the door. “//Bonding// time. Enjoy yourselves. //You’ll// see.” As if saying it with that much conviction would prove it. “Oh, wait! Nearly forgot your bag.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Seamus giggled as Trevor slung it over his shoulder and murmured a thanks. “It’s a purse, mum. Just call it a purse.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Trevor shot him a poisonous look. “Patent snakeskin leather,” he murmured, annoyed, wiping snow from his eyebrows. “It’s very expensive.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Sure.” Seamus chirped, smiling sweetly as he bounced down the icy front steps. “So is Gucci.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">* <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> He’d begin innocently enough, looking morose and just the right amount of moody for Trevor to wonder if he was slyly asking for advice. However, no matter how innocuously they always begun, conversations with his nephew generally went something like this: <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Uncle Trevor, what was so great about school?” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Nothing.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Why?” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “I never did anything.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Why?” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “I wasn’t cool enough.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “…oh.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Or like this: <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Uncle Trevor, how many friends did you have in your class? Like, was there, I dunno…” he’d shrug, “a girl in another grade? Was she interested in you? How did you know?” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Trevor would bite his lip.“There was no-one. I was never included. Wasn’t it clear the first time?” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> A very deep sigh on Seamus’ part. “Why?” he’d ask, tiredly. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Trevor hesitated. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Because I was short.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “That’s it?” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “And bad at,” an awkward roll of his shoulder, “math.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “I thought you were a nerd though.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> At times like this, conversations would become silent, and they’d just stare awkwardly at the dinosaur fossils and trillion-year-old leaf imprints together. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">* <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Uncle Trevor, have you ever been in love?” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> So this was how the conversation was going to begin this time. Trevor inhaled sharply, concentrating desperately on the finer details of the exhibit. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Her name was Teri.” he finally whispered, suddenly wondering if the neat little informative sign said ‘Pterydactyl’ or ‘Petradactyl.’ He scratched at it idly with a shaking finger. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Well what happened?” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “She died.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">*