DANCE YOUR HEART OUT

Right, left. Shuffle-shuffle, kick it out and turn.

Loud hip hop music pours out onto the busy city street from the open wall-pane windows of the small local dance studio. Other than the music, the day is calm, peaceful, ideal. A wonderful spring day. It had been raining earlier but, unlike what the forecast predicted, it had cleared to let the sun hang in the sky and reflect down into the puddles on the ground below.

Things are finally starting to bloom and people seem to take advantage of the mishap of the weatherman, hurrying down the street for quick errands. Some people duck into the local bakery, others pick up a new arrangement of flowers at the florist to spruce up their homes. The really determined with too much energy on their hands rush to the martial arts gym to hop into a class last minute. All of these people move with hip-hop as their background track to narrate their day.

"Well, come on, it's slide and then kick your right leg up, jerk your arms to the left. You're letting Miss Luna here show you all up."

The dance instructor weaves her way through the rows of students, her white hair in a messy bun on top of her head, sweat at her temples and the back of her neck, red eyes scanning, analyzing. One of her long rabbit ears flicks to the side, her head turning with it. Unfortunately for all of them, she doesn't always need to be looking at them to tell when they mess up. She can hear misteps.

Her baggy black pants swish as she darts over in time to the music and grabs the poor man's arm, forcing him through the proper motion he should be doing. He seems more focuses on the fact her shirt is tied around her waist, leaving her entire torso exposed minus what is concealed behind her sports bra.

"Knock it off."

A young man that looks nearly identical to the dance instructor walks up behind the student, smacking him on the back of the head with a light thud. Not only do they look alike, his outfit roughly matches hers, baggy black pants, tight white tank top. Their shoes are completely matching red and black high-tops. His hair is slicked up and slightly back, the sides of his hair a sharp, short shave close to his scalp, giving people a good look at how his rabbit ears connect to his head, unlike his counterpart and her fluffy hair that covers it up.

With the student under control, they continue to prowl through the aisles, occasionally stopping to note the small crowd that stops to watch outside the open windows before remembering they have things they need to be doing.

Towards the front of the class is a shorter woman, purple hair that, even in a ponytail, hangs long and sways like its a prop she's dancing with. Her baggy long-sleeved t-shirt lifts and pulls with all the motions and her shorts really give a lot of leg to look at between them and her own high-tops. The female instructor comes back around, pats the other woman on the shoulder, winking when their eyes meet, before taking her spot in front of the mirrors, facing the class.

It really is the perfect day for all of this, to have the studio opened to the general public, to let the smell of blooming trees drift into the room, have the spring breeze cool all the dancers off. When she first got the idea for the studio, Lucky, this was always what she had in mind. It's taken years to get to this point but it's all worth it now that she can look out over how far she's come, see her younger brother taking a genuine interest in the work and joining her for the journey, have regular passionate students like the purple-hair in front. This is what makes it all worth it, really.

At least it’s sunny out, or this would be the most miserable thing he can think of. Matter of fact, he knows it is, because it’s true mostly every other day of the week, rainy day after rainy day in the cold, dingy gray auto shop with his head stuck under the hood of some clunker.

“Thought you said you’d have that finished by lunch?”

His dad’s voice booms so loudly out of the small window-encased office in the corner of the garage that he jerks his head up, hitting it on the edge of the open hood. He rubs at his head gingerly through thick, dark waves that never seem to stay in place or out of his face enough for this work. There are oil smudges across his face. Then again, there always are. He likes to joke that with the overabundance of tattoos everywhere else on his body, moving to his face next would just be the natural choice. Its a joke his dad never laughs at.

“Yeah, that’s when I️ thought I️ knew what was wrong. Turns out I️ was wrong.”

His father pushes out of the desk chair where he’s been working on some kind of ridiculously boring paperwork, leaning his tall frame against the open doorframe, arms folded, shaking his dark head.

“You, Shand, my son, wrong? God, can I️ get that in writing?”

The faintest flicker of a smile passes over his face, and then its gone as soon as it had come.

“Anyways, you were going to go pick lunch up. That cafe down the street.”

“If you drink anymore coffee today you’re going to flat out die.”

Shand accuses with a scowl and some sideye. Dolan just throws a clean hand towel into Shand’s chest.

“Make it decaf this time then.”

He wont say he’s not glad for an opportunity to get out of the dim fluorescent light of the shop and feel the sun on his skin. He pushes up the sleeves of his hoodie more for greater sun exposure than to cool off. Most days he has to tote an umbrella to go on the lunch run, but today he just takes long-legged strides, purposefully stepping into a puddle or two here and there for the splash as he makes his way up the street toward the cafe.

The music is coming from the dance studio across the street, like it always is this time of day. Except today the music fits the weather for once. Most days, he just wants to tune out all the jaunty music that makes the rain seem even bleaker by contrast.

But today, he looks up toward the large open windows along the front of the building and something catches his eye. Flashes of purple, streaks of it moving back and forth. And the flashes are stretched to someone- a girl in the dance studio, moving smoothly and gracefully and God, ridiculously quickly.

He squints, eyes still adjusting to the brightness outside when he realizes someone is standing at the window now, staring at him.

“No free shows for pervs today. Keep stepping. Please and thank you.”

The young man is half leaning out the window, a few choppy pieces of long blond hair catching on his eyelashes in the breeze. He waves his hand dismissively, almost in a disgusted manner, to move Shand on down the street.

Shand huffs in his throat and makes his own specific gesture back before turning and continuing down the street to the cafe.

"Another one?"

The male dance teacher peeks around the other man as they watch the young dirty mechanic huff and storm off down the street. They watch together for a long while, making sure he keeps walking in that direction and doesn't try to immediately do a turn around to stalk back.

"God, love Trita, but her need to open these damn windows every time it's remotely nice out attracts a crowd. It's annoying."

He runs his hand through his white hair, pushing pieces back into place from where the dancing and sweat had made them fall. The amount of sweat he feels grosses him out to the point that he wipes his hand down the front of his tight muscle tank-top with a bit of a playful grimace. This makes the blond laugh, but before much banter can be made, things in the room shift.

"Caz, time to wrap up. Jui, can you open the door and clear the crowd outside?"

Trita waves from the front of the class at the two of them, a coy little smirk on her face from having watched them for a little bit. Most definitely specifically over how close they're standing. The teasing but still obviously adoring attention makes Cazmi's face heat up, whipping his head around quickly as he's unable to process the soft focus his sister had on him and his boyfriend. It's not that he doesn't like it. The problem is that he likes it and appreciates it a lot.

"At least she's aware of the consequences."

He tries to grumble in an attempt to play off how he's feeling, quickly leaning over to give Jurrien the quickest peck in the history of kisses on the cheek, then weaves between students to join his sister at the front of the class.

"Alright, everyone, decent work today. Keep practicing. Oh, and for those of you that I pulled aside today, let me know if you'd be interested in an advanced class."

Her red eyes drift to the girl in the front row and the pair of ocean blue eyes that stare back glimmer a bit, something sparked deep within them, excited over the offer she was clearly given. Truth be told, she was really one of the only ones given the offer seeing as she's the only one who can even keep up with the steps and instructions. The rest of the class doesn't need to know that. Besides, most of them are slowly shuffling out the door already, lazily making their way outside, some handing Jurrien payments for the last month of classes, others forming groups and making plans for dinner.

Trita can feel herself smile as she watches and listens, tapping her foot to the music still playing over the speakers tucked in the corners of the room. The playlist is about one song away from starting over again which makes her brother look at her with a raised eyebrow.

"You let them out early today?"

"Yeah, why not? Not every day it's sunny in Portland."

"... You're in a good mood, huh?"

"I was kinda thinking about going down the street and visiting Cin. You and Jui in?"

"Uh, when aren't we?"

Things like this just feel so natural, talking to her brother, making casual plans. Not every day is like this, of course, but today is so why not take advantage of it? Cazmi is grinning ear-to-ear at the prospect and nearly runs back towards the door to let Jurrien know of the plan to go get some sort of baked good from Darcin once everyone leaves.

Speaking of...

Luna stands at the shelves on the wall, very slowly gathering her things into an old leather backpack, taking her time putting her shoes on. Clearly thinking over something.

And she really is. An advanced class, especially the way Trita described it, would take a lot more of a commitment, more like a part-time job than a hobby. Can she swing that? Money sure would be tight if she had to cut her hours at work... But a chance to get true professional training under the Trita Airin? She'd be on her way to New York and Broadway's stage in a heartbeat with all the dancing experience she'd have under her belt.

"So. You in?"

Without her noticing, Trita has made her way over and is leaning against the wall near her, watching closely. It nearly makes Luna physically jump out of her thoughts but she catches herself, exhaling her surprise in an airy laugh.

"Ah... Not sure yet. Let me think about it tonight and then get back to you?"

"Hmmm, of course. Wouldn't want you to rush into this-"

"I'd say do it. You're better than anyone else in your class."

Cazmi interrupts the conversation from several feet away with the most casual of shrugs, not caring that a few of those said classmates are still around to hear the comment. It makes Luna laugh as she slings her bag over her shoulder, shaking her head at him.

"Nah, not really, but thanks."

Trita follows Luna to the door, watches her hand off a check to Jurrien then step outside, pausing to let her eyes adjust to the light and to take in the fresh air.

"Any plans?"

She tries to keep the conversation going. Out of all her students, Luna is by far the easiest to get along with, the most interested and overall pleasant. Actually, she'd argue Luna is more of a casual friend than strictly just a student at this point.

"I'm gonna hit up the cafe a few blocks down."

"Ah, right, you know the owner... Killian, right?"

"Yup, that's Lance. I'm assuming you're all going to visit Darcin?"

"Of course."

The three in the studio wave off the girl as she slips large headphones over her ears and begins her walk down the street.

Lunath has been watching the clock for the last two hours. The old thing with its faded face has always seemed a little slow, a little broken, but unfortunately his wristwatch and his phone had all confirmed how slowly the morning has been passing at Secondhand Stories, the little used bookshop on the block corner. Business is always slow on a weekday morning, but with the sun out, he’d expected at least a little more action.

But nada. He pulls his glasses off and cleans them on his sleeve for the forty seventh time since he’s crawled up to perch on the tall stool behind the cash wrap. Everything is made of old, dark wood in here and smells like dusty pages. Even the walls are a dark, nearly peeling wallpaper that must have been thickly striped deep green and navy blue, at one time, probably over fifty years ago. Now it just looks like faded dark lines.

Lunath absolutely loves his place. When his uncle Aleric had bought it from the weird recluse who’d nearly run it into the ground before them, Lunath had practically begged for a job, although he hadn’t needed to. Hes more or less the manager of this place now, for better or worse.

He loves being here, just not in the agonizingly slow hours right before lunchtime when it seems his break will never get here. But, faithfully- and maybe a little tauntingly- the clock chimes out with its little cuckoo bird tune that it’s noon on the nose. Lunath nearly flies off the stool, exiting the shop in a whirlwind, pausing only long enough to lock up and flip the open sign over.

He’s not the biggest fan of coffee or tea or any of the things that most of the hipsters in the city frequent the cafe for, but it’s still one of his favorite places to go. It helps that he can often get pretty good discounts by making eyes at the owner, proprietor, and the love of his life. Silver linings everywhere.

When he pushes open the door and the little bell chimes at his entrance, he realizes its a lot more crowded than it normally is at this time. Huh. People don’t want to read anymore but they can’t live without their coffee. What a time to be alive.

It's a crowded lunch rush, that's for sure. The rare sunshine has brought a hungry crowd clawing through his coffee shop, demanding small sandwiches to pair with their favorite cups. Not that he minds. Lance thrives off of days like this. He gets to see old faces, faithful regulars, and newbies just looking for a change of pace. Who could ask for anything more, really?

"Ah, yeah? Got yourself a nice little set up now, huh? Hang on one second- Yvaine?"

Lance looks over his shoulder from the register at the woman several feet behind him. She masterfully makes each and every order, focused on her task at hand. Completely lost in her task is more like it, but she has to be. If she doesn't devote herself to what she's doing and notices the mass of people waiting, she'll panic and psych herself out. It's just better this way.

"Deerling."

He calls again to get her attention, flicking one of the juts of her large antlers that encroaches on his space. It's not that big of a deal, besides it gives him a good way to grab her attention.

She jumps, nearly dropping the cup in her hand as she whirls around to look at him with wide eyes.

"Y-Yeah?"

"You got those to-go orders ready? I'm sure our favorite mechanic will be here soon."

"Oh, I-I'm on it!"

Lance has to give her credit, she's an incredibly fast worker, dedicated to her tasks. Extremely uncommon of a part-timer, especially a part-timer that has her dream job as the other part-time of their day. Who would've thought little downtown fortune-telling tucked away behind another building would do so well? It's not for Lance to question, just curse he hadn't jumped on the business opportunity when he could. Not that it matters, the little cafe is doing well enough that he's living a rather plush life.

Maybe little is the wrong word. It had started off as a little hole in the wall dive but it's grown so quickly that he had to buy the storefront next door and connect it to his pre-existing space to expand. The place has a fun mix-match because of it, half the floor old, very worn wooden floorboards and the other half concrete with all sorts of construction markings painted across it. They had to put in new metal support beams to connect the places but he opted to keep them visible, keep the theme going. All the furniture is unique, no sets to be seen, and he likes it that way. He's not sure he'd ever decorate his actual apartment like this but, for the cafe, it's wonderful and the average customer eats it up.

The bell over the door rings, grabbing his attention like it always does.

"Welcome in-"

But who he sees makes a sudden grin flash across his face, something flirty, proud, happy. Lunath looks around at the crowd in both annoyance and awe which nearly has Lance laughing from the other side of the room in delight. He loves the way Lunath pouts at the smallest inconvenience, mostly those that keep him from clinging to Lance's side.

"Hey, Glasses! Thanks for stopping by. There's a stool back here with your name on it."

Just like there always is, a small barstool sits somewhat near the register, off to Lance's side, that seems to really only serve one purpose.

As Lunath fights his way through the crowd with determination, the door opens again and Lance has to look away from the scene for a moment to greet the new guest. This face has his eyebrows raising and his grin flicking to more of a smirk.

"Hey, Plum, I was wondering if you were boycotting the place."

Luna looks around at the crowd, trying to judge if she really wants to wait out this line. Unfortunately, Lance spots her before she can decide which basically makes her decision for her. With a sigh that she tries to morph into a laugh at the tailend of the exhale, she shrugs his way, giving a small wave to both Lunath and Yvaine when they glance back at her.

"No, just busy. Hey, guys."

"I'll make your usual, try to find a seat."

Yvaine's voice is nearly impossible to hear over the people but Luna manages to catch enough to nod gratefully to her then duck around people, quickly darting to a corner seat at the back of the cafe with one chair and an old small out-door garden table. The spot usually has two chairs, someone must have taken the other to a different table, but she's usually alone so it doesn't really matter to her. Once she's seated, she reaches back around behind her and takes out the hair tie tangled up in her purple locks, taking a brush from her backpack to work over the impossible length of the mass as she waits.

Lunath sighs in relief when his eyes find Lance and he makes a beeline through the crowd back behind the serving bar. He more or less hops up and slides over the thing, letting his hand linger on Lance’s elbow before he takes his usual spot out of the craziness. This is Lance’s personal heaven- business booming and people in and out, new connections to be made and old ones to tend to like some burgeoning garden hes always cultivating.

Lunath doesn’t understand it much, but as he watches the light shine in Lance’s eyes as he ferries between customers and Yvaine, personally walking out behind the bar to hand off drinks and pat people on the back, complement one on their sunglasses or inquire about another’s sick cat. He was made for this kind of thing, and as much as Lunath hates commotion, he loves to see Lance in action.

Yvaine is working tirelessly putting together orders, reading off receipts and then flying into action. Lunath hates to interrupt her or add to her workload, so he cranes his neck until he spots the fresh plate of cookies at the far end of the counter, out of reach of the customers. He catches her eye for a second and grins and she returns it, nodding toward the plate.

The bell at the door chimes again and Shand walks in. Well, not entirely in. He steps halfway through the threshold before he freezes, taking in the crowded state of the place. The door swings shut and hits him in the process, propelling him the rest of the way inside.

“Damn. You putting heroin in your muffins these days, Lance?”

Shand eyes the commotion around him almost judgmentally, but doesn’t look too bothered by it as he sidles up to a clear spot in the bar and leans on it, nods to Lunath, who has a cookie midway to his mouth.

“Hey, Pops is gonna be late from work so we’re scraping dinner together.”

Lunath makes a horrified look that forestalls the consumption of his cookie.

“I️.... maybe I️ won’t be home for dinner either.”

He cuts his eyes over to the floor where Lance is still schmoozing folks and Shand lets out a short but airy laugh.

“Okay. I️ see how it is. Fine, go get laid. Good on you.”

Lunath looks horrified twice over but this time shoves the cookie into his mouth to keep himself from saying anything else incriminating.

Shand goes to flag Yvaine down but sees the poor thing working up a sweat back there and figure he can stand a few extra minutes out of the dark cave that is the garage, so he pulls up one of the barstools and props his elbow up on the wood to wait.

The crowd gets more and more rambunctious by the second as they're all forced to wait. Even Lance is having a hard time appeasing all of them to keep everything under control.

"Hey, I ordered ten minutes ago, all I got was a coffee."

People seem to take Shand's sitting at the bar as an open invitation to approach it and heckle Yvaine as she works. This catches Lance's attention quickly and he knows he needs to do something before things get too out of hand but what-

"It's right there, she called your name twice. You just weren't listening."

Both Lance and Yvaine's heads snap over to that little garden table where Luna is glancing over her shoulder at the upset man, her hair pulled up behind her head and she tries to work it back into a ponytail, just neater this time.

"Yeah? Did she?"

The man's tone is mocking but it doesn't bother Luna, she just flicks her hair back and lets it sway into place, pulling a book out of her bag. Ironically enough, one she bought from Lunath last week. All the circles in this city are surprisingly small.

"Enjoy your dark roast, Ken."

Before the man can react too much more to Luna's bored tone, Yvaine steps over and silently points a shaky finger to a cup sitting on the bar with "Ken" written in her pristine cursive. The man grumbles, snatching it up and stomping away from the bar. People stop freely walking up to it after that.

Lance lets out a happy laugh, strutting his way to Luna, leaning down to wrap his arm around her shoulders and pull her into a hug, giving her a good shake. She tries to ignore him, continue her book where she left off, but he shakes her again a bit more impatiently, only stopping when she finally looks up at him.

"That offer still stands, ya'know? Yvaine is only part-time, I could sure use a barista to fill in her off hours."

There's a flirtatious tone to his voice that she's just come to expect at this point. It's a familiar tone, similar to the one he used with everyone. Something about it is a bit friendlier than what he uses with strangers, something deep in the way it carries that she can't explain, but it still doesn't hold a candle to how he flirts with Lunath.

"I told you I can't, I'm too busy at the theater on third."

"That's what you say, but you never invite me to see any of your plays."

He pouts as she shrugs his arm off, sending him a playful smile, mostly to try to spare his feelings. She doesn't intentionally mean to hurt him, but she can't begin to imagine people she knows coming to see her act.

"I just have a sneaking suspicion you'd use the darkness to make out with Lunath the whole time and disrupt everyone else in the audience."

"Rude. We both have more respect for the arts than that. Now, if you want to get us in after hours, that does sound like a fun place to get up to something..."

Of course Lance dishes the comments right back out. She's not sure what she was expecting. Thankfully, he seems to realize he has more important things to do so he steps away, back to the register and Lunath's side.

"Tsk tsk, you're supposed to save a small bite for me, not eat the whole thing. You save it at the end of the cookie so I have to come back and kiss you to get it. I thought I had taught you better."

With another laugh, he runs his thumb across Lunath's cheek and brushes away some of the crumbs before turning to take the next order.

Yvaine shyly slides a paper bag with two lunch containers neatly nestled inside to Shand across the bar from her, shooting him an apologetic smile.

"Sorry that took so long. Tell Dolan I said hello. I'd really like to cook a family dinner again but he never returns my calls."

Shand gives a bit of a cringing smile as he pulls the bag closer to him and leans across the bar to tuck a few bills into Lance’s belt where he’s turned around taking orders. Lunath shoots him a viciously territorial look.

“Ah, yeah, sorry about that Yvaine. He’s been in the shop a lot lately and you know how things are with him and Kvanne. He has to work himself up to it.”

Shand shrugs a little, letting the cringe hold for a moment before his train of thought takes a turn and he glances around the place.

“Speaking of. Isn’t Jurrien normally here around this time? I️ have to pay him back for being obscenely rude to me on my way over here.”

Lunath rolls his eyes and grabs another cookie off the plate, this time pulling on the back of Lance’s shirt to share with him.

Shand keeps looking around the place, taking in all the faces and how bustling it is, until his eyes rest on something partially familiar. She’s flicking the purple hair up into a ponytail, then pulling out a book like all the noise doesn’t bother her, like she’s on another planet entirely.

“Hey, who’s that?”

Shand jerks his head over in her direction as Lunath pushes the last bit of cookie into Lance’s mouth and sighs.

“You’re kidding, right? Its like you don’t even live here.”

He offers no explanation besides that, withholding probably because it brings him a bit of joy to be able to hold something remotely valuable over his brother’s head like this.

"I'm assuming Jurrien just had something better to do. I imagine Cazmi invited him to something, it's alright. I'll see him some other time. He didn't do anything rude, did he?"

Yvaine tries to not sound too upset over not seeing Jurrien today. She has no children of her own so when she married Kvaine she was more than happy to jump into the motherly role for his son. It hadn't been all bad, she and Jurrien get along well, but... Maybe she was too clingy, too eager, drove him away. She hasn't been able to quite figure it out yet because he comes to visit her often which only makes the whole situation all the more confusing.

Lance happily munches away on the cookie Lunath had so readily shoved in his mouth, using the bites to keep himself from saying any comment to obscene in a cafe-full of people. His eyes flick from Shand to Luna quietly.

Shand seems transfixed for some reason. Does he really not know who that is? How is that even possible? Lunath knows her, Yvaine knows her, Lance himself knows her... Hell, he's pretty sure Dolan knows her... How can Shand be so out of the loop?

"... Plum? That's Fengari Estenor, Luna for short. She's lived in town for years now, came from the East. When did she teach you piano, Lunath? Five years ago? Okay, maybe not that long but you get the idea."

By the time the conversation dies off a bit and all their eyes naturally wander back to the person in question, Luna is staring at all of them with an arched eyebrow from hearing her name. Yvaine tries to fumble out an apology for talking and staring but Luna just waves her off and gets back to reading the old Shakespeare collection in her hands.

"Nothing bad, all good things, Sweetheart."

Lance calls to her with a smile but she promptly ignores him, angling herself in the chair so she can use the nearby wall as a backrest.

"Yeah, that's kinda her spot in the cafe. She comes to eat here once or twice a week, usually after her hip-hop class. Fits right in with the rest of us crazy people on this street."

“Uh....nope, he was fine. Hey, I’ll tell my dad to get with you about dinner sometime.”

Shand hesitates to tell Yvaine that Jurrien thrives off everything he does being rude, but Shand knows Yvaine thinks the world of his cousin. He also knows that with his dad spending most late evenings in the shop and nights at the martial arts studio, and with Lunath running off to Lance’s most nights, a family dinner at this point would consist of Shand alone. And he’s perfectly aware that he’s not the ideal dinner party guest. So he just shakes his head with a pleasant smile and lets the conversation take its natural flow.

When it turns to the girl in the corner, to Luna, he’s perfectly happy to let it.

“Wait, she taught you piano?”

“Yeah, it was that one year you decided you were gonna try out being smart.”

Lunath wrinkles his nose up like he’s pondering the idea of sticking out his tongue, but Lance turns and Lunath thinks better of it. He can be mature. At least while Lance is watching.

“Ah, that adventurous year. So she’s been here in town for that long, huh?”

Shand plunks his chin into his hand and furrows his brow. He’s usually not so bad at missing details, and especially not at missing whole people like this. Especially not when they look like her. Of course, given everything he can piece together about her now, he might as well leave it alone.

She’s dressed intentionally, in clothes for getting sweaty but ones that still flatter her and look good and are in good condition. She’s reading, and not just some Nicholas Sparks novel, but Shakespeare. That’s legit. And she plays piano, apparently. And dances. And with each fact he rolls over in his mind, she dances further and further out of his league. So he turns back to the bar and shrugs.

“Huh. You learn something new every day, dont ya.”

He taps on the bar, checks the time on his phone. He probably can’t steal any longer away from work, so he pushes off the bar stool, bag in hand, and nearly turns to go before he remembers.

“Oh, yeah, can I️ get a decaf coffee, too? Black. I️ swear my father has the stuff churning in his veins.”

"Don't have any made, it'll take a minute to brew-"

"Decaf?"

Lance lets out a loud laugh, resting his elbow on the top of Lunath's head to lean against him like he's just the absolute perfect armrest ever sitting there like he is.

"Dolan sick? Dying? I've heard when people only have a certain amount of time to live, their whole perspective changes. Give him my condolences."

Some people flick their eyes at how casually Lance is loudly talking about the subject of death, then look to Shand worried. They clearly hadn't heard the whole conversation and are now under the assumption this man's father is dying and the owner of the cafe is mocking the terminally ill. Lance just as clearly doesn't care what they're thinking, casually brushing his fingers down through Lunath's always wild hair, pushing the bangs down into place the best he can a bit absentmindedly.

Luna rolls her eyes at all the new commotion, reaching back in her bag for a pen and small notebook. The page she flips it open to is covered corner to corner with notes, all stage directions, but not for a Shakespeare play. No, her company has decided Wicked would be the best next big thing after they finish this run of Phantom of the Opera. Really, she's a little surprised they didn't go for Hamilton with how popular and new it still is. Something-Something rights being too expensive, she's sure, or maybe it's that the actual casts of the musical from big cities like New York and Chicago are touring. The legal side of the play doesn't want money being shoveled away from the true tours. It's understandable.

But the director. God, her director gets under her skin. All the stage directions he gives are boring and stale, they may as well just be standing stationary on the stage. Musicals require some sort of dance and quick steps. He claims it's for the sake of keeping theatre classical. Well, Shakespeare thinks differently and the man is the name when it comes to western culture plays.

As she reads through these old classics, she jots down notes on what Shakespeare had decided his actors should be doing to keep things interesting hundred of years ago. To no surprise, his actors moved around. A lot. Once she's used up the page even beyond what it's worth, she flips to the next and draws a diagram with directional arrows and all the like. The goal is to get to the point that she can write all her own stage directions for Wicked and present them to the rest of the cast, let everyone take a vote. It's proving to be taking up much more of her time than she thought, especially with all the reading she has to do...

"Hey, Lunath-"

Luna stops writing for a moment, turning to look over the counter. Lunath looks back at her with a guilty wide-eyed expression, caught reaching for yet another cookie.

"Do you have anymore Shakespeare or did I run the bookstore dry already? Still not looking for the literature adaptations, I need the originals with all the stage notes."

Yvaine sets a pot of decaf to brew then quickly makes her way to the display case, cutting out a rather large slice of coffee cake, and then snatches up a cup of tea she had set off to the side. With how close Luna is sitting to the bar area, all Yvaine has to do is lean over and hand it to her, along with passing her an entire small ceramic container of sugar just for herself.

"Just give me the sugar back when you're done."

The two share playful little smiles, Yvaine's borderline teasing and Luna's somewhat shameful, but the air is light and pleasant between them. That taken care of, she checks back on the decaf pot which has just now started to produce a rich aroma to mix with all the other coffee blends perfuming the cafe. She takes a deep breath of it with a small hum before turning back to Shand with an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, I'll see if I can give you a discount on the cup since you have to wait for it."

Shand shakes his head a little at Lance, huffs out a little laugh before remembering Yvaine is still watching him a little frazzled.

"Oh no no no, don't worry about that. You know I'd rather be waiting here than going back there yet anyway."

He usually tries to act like he doesn't hate the garage so much, but that one had just slipped out. And it's not like he truly does hate it. It's just not what he'd imagined he'd be at this point in his life. But then again, what else in his life is? Not that he'd had some clear or driving vision for his life. Growing up, all he can remember really feeling passionate about were those weekend trips they'd take to Cannon Beach, or the longer ones up to Puget Sound. He'd spend the time just sitting overlooking the water, or splashing around in it, looking out past the horizon and thinking about how big the world was.

It feels like it's gotten a lot smaller since then. Or at least, maybe less accessible to him. So the garage it is. At least it's a paying job and at least there's nothing specific burning in his soul that he feels like he's missing out on, just that fuzzy, nebulous idea of everything at once.

"Hmm, lemme think."

Lunath gets up to lean over the bar facing Luna, mentally cataloguing the bookstore stock. She'd really been the most consistent customer of theirs recently, and he's not about to let her down.

"Well I mean, we've got a few left but they're not as popular for the stage. Honestly, probably why we still have them. Stuff like Cymbeline, Timon of Athens- you can really only stomach that one if you're a Marxist, and I don't like to stereotype, but if you're a Marxist, you've fooled me."

Lunath starts down his customary ramblings, the ones where he gets so deep into his thoughts about things no one else could or should really care about that he stops picking up on social cues. Normally, Lance will pat him on the shoulder to pull him out of it eventually, but unfortunately Lance loves listening to him go off on his tangents, so it takes a while for him to step in and pull the plug.

Shand settles back into the barstool to wait, staying quiet and using Lunath's long monologue as a chance to covertly watch Luna. He's seen her through the windows of the dance studio a few times, and from that distance, the best he could really notice was the hair and what a good dancer she is. But up closer, he can see her sparkling blue eyes, how she tilts her head thoughtfully, her books arranged around her and her legs pulled up and crossed under her in the chair, like she's effortless managed to make the iron grated cafe chair she's sitting in the most comfortable place on earth.

Even before Lunath stops talking, Shand feels the urge to cut in and introduce himself, somehow find a way to get those blue eyes to look at him so he doesn't have to imagine the feeling and the rush it would probably be. But just as he's convinced himself to do it, he looks down and realizes he still has engine oil smeared over his hands and wouldn't that be a great introduction- shake hands with her and get her all greasy? What a great first impression.

But really, what other impression could he make? He's covered in some kind of grime most of the time, so it's probably no use. Best to just let her continue in whatever it is that's caught her interest and stay in his lane.

Lance lets his eyes wander back and forth for a bit, from Lunath to Luna, Shand to Luna, here and there, taking in the whole scene. Shand is trying his best not to stare, be too distracted, but to any remotely trained eye, he's failing miserably. It makes Lance smile slowly, deviously.

"Hey, babe."

As coyly as ever, Lance pats Lunath right on his rear, trying to not laugh when Lunath whirls around completely red. He pulls Lunath into a side sort of hug but keeps him pulled there, holding him close, his arm on the opposite side of his body placing his hand on his hip in a triumphant sort of pose.

"Shakespeare can wait. All the time in the afterlife to wait. Think it was kinda rude of you to not introduce the two speaking parties."

Over Lunath's shoulder, Luna watches with a raised brow, a little annoyed Lance had interrupted the conversation. Popular or not, Luna needs a new play to analyze and just when Lunath seemed to be getting to a suggestion, Lance goes and pulls him away.

What does he mean by introductions anyways? She was only talking to Lunath and briefly Yvaine, and she knows both of them. No introduction needed.

Her eyes flick to the other side of the bar where Lance is oh so craftily angling himself like invisible directional arrow for her to look.

Huh... She makes a quick scribble of that in her notebook then looks back up to follow the cue again.

An incredibly tall, slender man is seated at the bar, his wavy dark hair a bit of a mess, tattoos all over his visible body, only rivaled by the grease stains on his mechanic jumpsuit. Whoever he is seems to be trying his best to avert his eyes from her, though she gets a glimpse of their hazel color on the times he's not so successful.

"Luna, this is Shand, Lunath's brother. Shand, this is Luna, Lunath's old piano instructor."

There's a sing-song proud little quality to Lance's voice as he does the introduction that makes Luna instantly skeptical of this whole situation. Lance doesn't care, he's living for whatever moment he thinks he just created.

"Brother...? Oh! You're the one that went off to college, yeah? Sorry, guess it's kinda weird that I know your family but not you."

Luna tries to organize the space she'd taken for herself, set her pen down, bookmark the page she was on in her book, try to be more presentable for meeting a new person, but also to make room for her order as well.

"Like Lance said, my name is Luna, at least that's what everyone calls me. I guess it's nice to finally meet you, huh?"

Lunath snorts the second Luna mentions college, and Lance has to nudge him again to play nice.

"Uh, I experimented with higher learning but as you can see it did not stick."

Shand tacks a crooked smile onto the end of his self deprecation, holding his arms out a little to let the mechanic get up have its full effect.

"But, uh, yeah, that's me. The world gets smaller all the time, huh."

He rubs at the back of his head, suddenly conscious of how messy his hair is, how tattoos poke up even out of the neck of his undershirt. He angles himself differently so he doesn't have to talk at her over his shoulder, but mostly so she's not staring at the back of his neck.

What else is there to say? Not like they have anything in common, apparently except for the wonderful little imp that is Lunath. Except... hadn't she just said something about reading for stage notes? He takes a second gazing at all the Shakespeare piled around her and a lightbulb goes off that settles his slight smile a bit.

"You into theater? Ibsen's a good one to read, too, unless you're not a fan of more modern stuff."

He tacks that extra comment on the end to cover his tracks, just in case, since he doesn't really care to start a debate in case she's just a die-hard Shakespeare fan.

Lunath huffs and folds his arms.

"Stop encroaching! Go back to changing oil and stuff."

"Can you name one other thing that has to do with fixing cars? Other than changing oil?"

Shand's lips are pressed tight in a bit of annoyance, but also trying to keep from smiling because he knows the answer already.

Lunath flounders a bit, eyebrows furrowed, clearly already bitter at the question and not expecting the immediate retaliation.

"I mean, there's always... you gotta also... flip the... spark... rotator-"

"He's pretty much a genius, but don't let him try to fix your car."

Shand mutters offhandedly to Luna with a good natured laugh under his breath as Yvaine slides the to-go cup a bit across the bar to him.

A mechanic, huh? Nice. Luna finds herself smiling a bit as she looks over his uniform. What a practical occupation. It's something she should have gone into, really. It makes so much more logical and reasonable sense than theater. Some would say it's not too late to change, but how and when is she going to learn the in's and out's of an engine?

Speaking of theater...

"Ibsen? Oh, so are you A Doll's House fan or The Daughter? Don't worry, there's no right or wrong answer, I'm just wondering. Perfectly valid to throw in a different option too."

She taps her pen on the paper, shifting in her seat so she's nearly backwards in it, legs bent and folded up to her chest, the edge of the table her new backrest, all to see him better. To be honest, she wasn't expecting that from him but, to be fair as well, she doesn't expect it out of most people. This is just a rare treat all in all.

His eyes keep wandering to her notebook, trying to figure out what she's doing discretely. Good luck, she can't even figure it out and it's her own thoughts. If he makes heads or tails of it then he's a godsend.

"Modern stuff doesn't bother me. I'm very into post-modern and turn of the century stuff too. I'm auditioning for Wicked in a week. You know that theater down where 3rd and Flanders cross? That's where my theater company is."

Lance snatches up another cookie, holding it between his teeth, He gives Lunath a little tug closer, mostly to get his attention. When the attention is gained, Lance arches an eyebrow suggestively, swaying back and forth much like a playful dog wags its tail. It makes Lunath blush but that doesn't stop Lance from immediately leaning down so the other end of the cookie pushes against Lunath's mouth and Lance pauses there to make sure it has to be taken.

Yvaine watches both parties quietly, Lance and Lunath, the already established happy couple, and now Shand and Luna, the... Well... Hm. Now that she's watching, she wonders what's going on. It's not as if she spends time with Shand every day or anything but, even the time she has spent with him, she's never seen him look more engaged and nervous all at the same time. He didn't even look when she slid the to-go cup to him. Unless Shand has a reason, he doesn't ever stick around the cafe more than he has to... Is Luna the reason he's not jumping up to leave right now?

The thought makes her blush nearly as much as Lance's strong, open flirtations to Lunath do, so she looks away from all of them, trying to get back to work. Something about this just reminds her that she needs to get home and think of a way to talk to Kvanne... She tugs the front of her apron down some more as if that will cover the front of her more than it already was. It doesn't but the feeling is nice.

Shand takes a second to look down at the bar, working to control his smile from growing too wide or eager.

"Oh, Doll's House all the way. But if it's Shakespeare you have an inclination for, then Hedda Gabler's far more up your alley. Unless you hated Hamlet, and then we'd have to have another talk."

He almost absentmindedly starts drinking the coffee from the to-go cup that's suddenly in front of him. He gets it up to his mouth before he smells it, wrinkles his nose and plunks the cup back onto the bar with a hard stare and a vengeance.

Lunath is chomping on his cookie, looking like he's putting the energy into it that he'd like to put into arguing with Shand right now. Shand can understand how irritated Lunath gets at him when he starts drifting dangerously close to Lunath's corner of the world, his little niche that he's carved out for himself. He's the family nerd and he's very proud- as well as protective- of it.

And he really has nothing to be afraid of. Shand had tried college out and come back a year later with his tail between his legs because he just couldn't seem to get the hang of it. There had been classes and topics he'd fallen in love with there- theater, of course, had been one of them. It was just all the sitting still and listening quietly in between all the action that he hadn't been cut out for.

So he remembers snippets of things, pieces of all the classes that had commanded his attention the most. Facts about the plays that had been his favorites, or interesting facts about the lives of interesting authors. It's easier for him to remember the things they'd acted out, or things he'd learned doing projects on his own.

"The uh.. theater on third and Flanders, huh? That's really cool. What kind of stuff have you guys done before? And... if you're going out for Wicked..."

Shand juts his chin a little at her organized stack of notebooks and Shakespeare.

"Why all the good ol' Will Shakes?"

Lunath turns behind him and darts his hand under the free flowing water in the sink where Yvaine is stacking dishes and then whirls around and flicks water in Shand's face, leaving droplets hanging in his eyelashes.

"If I ever hear you call him that again, I'm going to kill you in your sleep."

"Except you'd have to be home at night to do that, wouldn't you?"

Shand draws his sleeve across his face to dry the water but only succeeds in transferring some of the grease to his face. Lunath goes red for maybe the seventh time since getting to the cafe and plops back onto his stool, arms folded.

"Well, isn't that a fun story."

Luna sighs, dropping her shoulders into a shrug with half the energy she had talking about different playwrights.

"My company's director is... A piece of work. He has this idea in his head that plays should be serious, musicals somber, everything is more profound if an actor simply turns his head rather than use the entire stage."

She rolls her eyes, snatching up her tea and beginning to dump a shameful amount of sugar into the cup but she's too caught up in her annoyance to care.

"Honestly... Mh-"

Though she goes to finally take a sip of her tea, mid tilting the cup back, she has another thought that her body simply must get out. Unfortunately for him, he's opened up the floodgate for ranting. Unlike Lunath, she has no one to tell her to stop.

"So, we're doing good ol' Phantom right now, yeah? We barely take more than three steps at once. I get that Phantom doesn't have as much movement as... Oh, I don't know, Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812, but at the very least it still has that whole masquerade scene where people should be moving around and dancing. But no, we just march across the stage. 'A good actor can convey it all with his face and tone' or some other bullshit."

She lets the last part get muffled by another sip of her tea, suddenly very away that she had nearly gone on in a tangent. A tangent that really doesn't answer Shand's question. God, why is she like this? She's not sure she's ever loved anything more than theater but that doesn't mean other people share the passion, she knows that. Why can't she stop herself?

Clearing her throat, she sets her teacup down and pulls her notebook back up into her hands and turns it around for him to get a better look at. It looks like the scribbles of a crazy person, paragraphs of notes on Shakespeare's stage direction and then blurbs of her own ideas. She's a little self-conscious showing it but, it's not like he can see the other twenty pages that go along with this. As long as he only sees one, he can't think she's too insane... Right?

"I'm researching how Shakespeare directed his plays and then I'm going to write my own directions for how I think we should run Wicked based on what I find. Then, with all these facts and ideas, I'm going to present them and, hopefully, we can get the company to vote on which is best. It's not really that big of a deal, I like this stuff anyway, so I guess it's more of a passion project."

Her eyes cut back to Lunath as she remembers him just about to tell her about some more plays he has at the bookstore. But, per usual today, Lance just grins and waves her attention back around to Shand, away from Lunath. Right now, it's not that she really minds all that much, she's enjoying this theater conversation with Shand, but, after it's over, he better be willing to release Lunath back to her so she can get more information.

“Wow, that’s pretty smart... if they don’t listen to you, then they’re just a bunch of idiot anarchists who can’t be helped I️ guess.”

Shand leans in to study her notes. To her credit, they’re really very neat and organized, but his brain can’t get the letters to group into words for him so he just stares at the page and nods as if he’s reading the notes, to prevent embarrassment and her thinking he’s just your stereotypical dumb mechanic. And who knows, chances are that’s the truth anyway. But now that’s hes started talking to her, he’d like to put off that conclusion for as long as possible.

Even though he can’t read the notes, he can study her handwriting, and it’s a pretty good substitute because as he looks at it, his brows furrow, his lips twitch at a smile, he nods, as his brain interacts with it all. Its all neat and precise, not much variation in how the same letter is formed over and over on the page, despite the fever pitch he’d seen her writing at before. Something about the way everything is shaped is pleasant and unique and it makes his eyes crinkle with his smile.

“It’s, uh. Its a good thing you’re into theater, because you’ll never be able to become a doctor with handwriting like that.”

He lets his smile take a teasing tone, holding back the burning desire to wink at her, as if he was twelve or something. He regrets very much that Lunath and Lance and practically everyone who knows him is here to witness this near self-implosion he’s suffering because of this girl.

Suddenly, his phone starts buzzing in his pocket and he jumps, pulling it out to see his dads number come up.

“Oh, shit. I️ better get back... lost track of time I️ guess.”

He fumbles with slipping his phone back in his pocket, flustered now as he grabs the bag full of food and the coffee, not being able to decide if his dad will chew him out over being late or will just stare at him silently the rest of the day. He’s not sure which he’d prefer.

He heads for the door, starting to lean in to push it open with his back. He pauses though, nods in Luna’s direction.

“Hey, good luck with your play. It was good to meet you... hopefully I’ll see you around.”

"You bet! It was nice talking to you."

Luna smiles and waves as Shand runs out of the door in a hurry, with the full knowledge that... She'll probably never see him again. People always say that but never really follow up with it and, if the fact they lived in the same city for years in the same circles and still hadn't met until now is any indication, if they do meet again it'll be years from now. Which she actually finds herself thinking is a shame. The conversation was nice, even if it was brief, and he had a wonderful smile that lit up his eyes. He clearly knew more about theater than he was letting on but she wasn't about to out him. Just seeing the happiness on his face, the same she felt deep down, was enough.

"Kinda surprised, actually..."

Lance mumbles to himself, leaning over Lunath so his chin rests in the other man's hair. Lunath tries to tilt his head back to look up at him but Lance just pats his shoulder, flicking his finger out to point at Luna who continues to look at the door for one more moment before turning back around to work again.

"It's not like your brother to be that into a girl but bolt before at least attempting to get her number."

With a shrug, he stands back up, trying to work back to his casual demeanor, very upset his plan to set the two people up had fallen through. His little games so rarely fall through, people he pushes together always work. Just look at Yvaine and Kvanne: Match made in heaven. That's just a little taste of his resume... So he's not really sure how to handle how this whole interaction had just gone. It was so ... Casual and friendly.

"You know, Plum, kinda surprised you didn't try to ask him for a car or something. You haven't had one since your first year in this town."

Luna looks over her shoulder at him with a pout, chewing on a bite of her coffee cake.

"Cars are expensive. Besides, I've got a bike. Between that and walking, I can get most anywhere I need here."

"Of course you can."

Lance mumbles, going back to the register to work on the line again which has, thankfully, finally started to die down at this point.

It takes them a little longer to get the studio in order, Jurrien entering in and cataloguing all the payment information, before they’re finally ready to head out. Jurrien reaches for an umbrella and Cazmi gives him an incredulous look, which Jurrien rolls his eyes at.

“When we get caught in a downpour out of nowhere, guess who won’t be sharing their umbrella with you. Good thing you look hella cute all wet.”

Its constantly like this with them, teasing and poking banter followed up by mushy professions of love and outright flirting. Their path to each other had been unconventional. Truth be told, they each are unconventional in their own rights, but somehow together they make that unconventional work.

The streets are still sunny as they stroll calmly, not needing to hurry since the next class won’t start for a few hours anyway. Jurrien glances over at Cazmi as hes chatting with Trita about something, thinking that the boy definitely could have used a shower before they’d left, but that puts Jurrien’s mind onto something else entirely. Something he’ll have to share with Caz at a slightly more appropriate time.

They’d been lucky to get the storefront they had, putting the studio right in the same area as Darcin and Sive and so many other friends of theirs. Sometimes these few little blocks nestled together just feel kind of like a tiny community, everyone looking out for each other. Its not a small town environment per se, but some days it feels like it.

Jurrien never thought he would want anything like that. He’d originally wanted to move away, maybe go to Seattle or somewhere where he could find a few good night clubs to frequent and try to squeeze in some hours of experience, get his music out there. Portland isn’t totally void of opportunities, but he’d grown up here and after high school, it had just started to feel stale.

But his dad had insisted that he not move out until he had a regular, consistently paying job, pushing him to go to law school just like he had. Jurrien would have dropped a toaster in his bath water if it had meant escaping that fate. But thankfully it hadn’t come to that.

He can practically smell when they enter the rough vicinity of the bakery because everything starts to smell warm and tantalizing and a little tempting and if they have those butterscotch cupcakes again, he swears he will eat every last one they have. And he’ll even pay for all of them this time.

"And so that's when I tell him that the tail is real. Can you believe it? He thought it was some sort of butt plug, the weird idiot."

As Cazmi talks, he nudges Jurrien with his elbow, teasing, but the touch lasts just a bit too long to be just a joke. He's an idiot... I love him. That what those sentences always mean. The day they stop having that unspoken extra at the end is the day the put him in the ground.

"Um. Hello, I have the ears and tail too, had them longer than you. Of course I believe it. I've heard it all before."

Trita laughs, jerking her hip off to the side to push against Cazmi, send him stumbling right into Jurrien. They all laugh at it and it's about like the most pleasant song the world could ever play.

The Airin siblings have pretty much been on their own for years and years, only really having each other. For a time, that was enough. Then things started changing, the definition of family started growing. Darcin had met Sive and the two had started dating not long after. That was a fun addition because Trita wasn't the only girl anymore. Then, while she was off touring, Caz had found Jurrien. By the time she came back, she was the only single one left but life was full and happy. The two that just stepped up into their lives seemed to effortlessly fit right in.

Cazmi had been a bit worried about introducing Jurrien to his older siblings. They had always supported him but... What if having a boyfriend was the final straw? What if they hated Jurrien? What if Jurrien hated them? These thoughts haunted him the first couple of weeks of their relationship. For nothing. Darcin and Trita instantly took to Jurrien and Jurrien follows them both around with as much of a puppy stare as Cazmi can feel himself unintentionally making sometimes.

"Ugh, Jui, why did you let Caz leave the apartment like this. I expect more from you."

Trita pulls at Cazmi's muscle shirt and then flicks the sweaty ends of his hair that hang in his face. The shirt he can't immediately fix, but he does run his hand through his hair to try to push it all back into place.

"He thinks I'm hot like this. Not my fault you can't recognize perfection."

They all get a great laugh out of that as they push their way past the bakery door as casually as if they themselves owned the place.

Behind the case, restocking cookies from the mad lunch rush that just finally died down, the third matching sibling looks up, the top layer of his white chin-length hair pulled back in a half ponytail to keep it out of his face. When he spots the three, he breaks out in a wide smile, just as he always does to see them.

"Hey guys! I was hoping you would visit today. I've been changing around the recipe for snickerdoodles and I was hoping you would try them. Sive- Hang on, she's in the back."

He sets his tray down and nearly runs past the door leading to the back office. All of the backing equipment and primarily Darcin-run workspace is out in the open behind the counter for customers to see as they wait, watch Darcin bake all the goodies they're about to eat. Tucked away is the management office, where Sive primarily works. Of course, she ventures out, mostly to check on her bunny man. She is by no means confined to her office so the fact she's back there right now must mean she was working on some sort of paperwork.

Not even a full minute later, Darcin is bounding back into the room with the woman's hand in his, locking his fingers through hers in his overly excited, puppy sort of way. The smile is still plastered on his face and why wouldn't it be? He loves Portland but, most of all, he loves the set up they have. He's convinced you could move him to Arizona and, as long as all his family comes with him and it stays like this, he'd still be the happiest person alive. His wife, his siblings, his basically brother-in-law at this point... It's the big and growing family he's always wanted.

"Tell'em about the changes to the snickerdoodles, babe! Wasn't that last batch really good?"

He's swelling with uncontained pride while seeking affirmation, beaming, the actual sun on earth, so Trita shoots Sive an apologetic smile on behalf of her brother but does little to try to control him. She, and she's sure Sive too at this point, knows that there's no stopping Darcin and that's one of the reasons he's so likable.

“The snickerdoodles, right.”

Even though the woman isn’t smiling, she flicks some long, dark bangs out of her face, blue eyes so dark they’re almost black flicking over toward Darcin, who can’t stop smiling to save his life.

“To those we added extra organic cinnamon, some range free bat entrails, and my own fingernail clippings. It really brings out the bite of the deathcap mushrooms we decided to go with.”

Her lips are pulled into a straight line and there’s no drop of humor on her face, but she lets Darcin pull her into his side for a squeeze and a kiss anyway.

“Butterscotch cupcakes. I️ need them.”

Jurrien wastes no time, slapping both hands palms-down on the top of the glass case as he scans it through.

“You need them? What if the price has gone up?”

Sive arches an eyebrow as she watches him search frantically.

“First of all, not fair, second of all, I️ dont even see any. Come onnnnn.”

He pouts, even subtly stomping his foot a little before he folds his arms.

“Would you work the blazing hot ovens in the back and wash all the dishes and live in our industrial freezer for them?”

Sive taps on the glass steadily, face completely void of expression although it’s still obvious that she’s enjoying this encounter.

“Hell no. I️ dont want them that bad.”

“Then the price increase is really the better deal for you then. I️ just frosted the last batch, I’ll go get them.”

She smiles for the first time, a tight-lipped affair in which she closes her eyes for a moment in triumph before pushing back through the double swinging doors into the kitchen.

"Ciiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin."

Cazmi pulls at his brother's sleeve, yanking him towards Trita for some sort of impromptu sibling meeting. Both Trita and Darcin tilt their heads nearly in unison at the sudden whiny tone of the youngest, trying to figure out what set him off suddenly. Was it what Sive said to Jurrien? If so, he should be used to all of that by now... They live with her, they all know how it is.

The confusion on their faces nearly offends Cazmi. Do they really think he's that dumb and unobservant to take what Sive said about living in the freezer seriously? It only makes him pout more but he pushes past and continues.

"Why does she always work in that old dinky kitchen in the back? You do all your work here in the kitchen behind the counter for people to see and watch. Why doesn't she work out here with you?"

"Maybe she doesn't want pests like you bothering her all the time, hm?"

Trita flicks one of Cazmi's ears as a warning, trying to tell him to stop prying. That apparently only encourages him to try to reach up and pay her back but, unfortunately for him, she's a little more prepared than he gives her credit for. She snatches his wrist and spins him around, shoving him up against the counter right beside Jurrien, side of his head pressed to the glass, arm pinned behind his back.

"Hey babe. Uh.... You look great from this angle."

Cazmi tries to save face by flirting with Jurrien though it comes out a bit mumbled with how his cheek is mushed up against the glass. At this point, Darcin decides to step in, tapping Trita's shoulder lightly. Even still, he doesn't frown. His smile is no longer a giant grin but he's still smiling nonetheless.

"She just prefers to work back in the old kitchen and that's okay. Between us, I'm actually planning to renovate it for her as an anniversary gift. I've been saving up for a year or so now and I think I'm just about ready to start the process."

That huge grin is back on his face almost immediately, excited by his own plan to do something for Sive. Trita and Cazmi shoot each other a quick glance, both undoubtedly thinking the same thing.

Sive already knows. Not that the two of them have proof but... It's Sive. Take out the fact that she is the main keeper of the book for the bakery and can see where money goes, she's a very observant person. There's no way she doesn't have some idea what he's up to.

"I've been setting small bits of money aside each paycheck to save up."

"Uh, Cin, don't you two share a bank account? Can't she see that you're taking money out? And where are you putting this money? If you're just withdrawing it, she for sure can find your cash stashed somewhere."

Trita's logical comments only make Darcin laugh, pulling his shoulders back, standing up tall and proud.

"Well, yeah, she can see I'm taking money out, but she doesn't know why so the gift is still a secret. Anyways, I opened up a temporary account just to put this money away safely so there's no evidence of what I'm doing unless she goes snooping to see if I have another debit card."

His two younger siblings share another glance, this one more worried than the last. Trita nudges Cazmi to say this thought though he hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck, before he works up the nerve to.

"You're... Aware how sketchy that seems, right? Most wives, husbands, significant others, would see that and instantly assume you're cheating on them. Setting money aside she can't see to spend on a side-piece, that's what it looks like."

Darcin stares at them blankly for a moment and they stare back anxiously, waiting for the dots to connect. When they do, he turns red in the face and shakes his head quickly in denial. He actually moves so fast that his long rabbit ears swing almost comically to follow the motion of his head.

"T-That's not it at all! That's not what I'm doing! Sive knows I wouldn't- Right? I'm trying to plan a present for her!"

The poor guy is obviously panicked now, rethinking over everything he's doing. It earns him a pity sigh from his sister and a roll of the eyes from his brother.

"You're lucky your anniversary is in two months so you don't have to keep this going much longer."

Jurrien folds himself over on the glass case leisurely, letting his chin rest on the cool surface, waiting for the sibling discussion to be over so he can add what he believes to be the most important detail.

"Darcin. If I don't get those cupcakes, I'm going to tell her."

He raises his eyebrows for emphasis because he knows he's nowhere near naturally intimidating, and he taps his fingers on the glass to add to the effect.

Sive comes pushing back through the doors before Jurrien can get any sort of verbal confirmation. She has a look on her face that says the doors and walls of this place aren't sealed enough to keep any conversations private, but she's decent enough to let Darcin keep his dignity. Him and no one else.

She slides the tray of freshly baked cupcakes on top of the glass case just out of Jurrien's reach, sliding the case door open from the back and starting to stock the shelves.

"Unless Trita has given you a raise I'm not aware of, I think you can afford maybe half of one."

Sive smiles again, a triumphant looking expression that doesn't hold any trace of teasing, just a little bit of pleased condescension. For emphasis, she pulls the last cupcake off the tray and unwraps the liner, maintaining eye contact with Jurrien as she reaches up and slowly mashes the cupcake icing-first into where she assumes Darcin's mouth is. She's mostly right, but his nose is a little in the way. There's time enough for him to open his mouth in response, but it doesn't altogether save him.

"Mmmm. Isn't that super good? Isn't that a ten thousand dollar cupcake? If his mouth wasn't full of icing, he'd be assuring you that it is."

When Sive removes the mashed cupcake from Darcin's face, she doesn't give him any time to move to clean himself off. She pulls him down by the collar and starts to kiss him. Or lick him. From this angle, it's hard for Jurrien to tell which. It's probably a mix, based on all the noises.

"I will walk out of this shop with a dozen cupcakes at a discount, and if you think I'm wrong, you have another thing coming."

Jurrien's got his head tilted on that argumentative angle now, face turned slightly away from her so that his serious side-eye can have a complete and full effect.

"Ew. Straight couples."

Cazmi wrinkles up his nose as he watches Sive completely make out with his brother right here, right now. Clearly Darcin doesn't mind. Other than his initial surprise and the red tint to his cheeks, he's pretty happy with the situation, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her into him, let the angle of their faces increase for a deeper kiss.

That has Cazmi really groaning, rolling his eyes at them, yelling about how disgusting straight people are, what awful people heterosexuals can be. Not meaning any of it, of course, he loves his brother and his sister-in-law, but the whole show is unnecessary.

"If I shove a cupcake on Jurrien's face, can I make out with him to clean it off? Are you trying to hint there's some sort of discount if we do that?"

Darcin pulls his mouth from Sive for a moment, breathing heavily, beyond what is appropriate for technically being in public. He still has spots of icing across his face, but his lips are mostly clean aside from the glisten they have from Sive's tongue running over them.

"N-No, you don't have to. I can give you my discount if you want. Of course, we won't stop you if you two want to make out. We've never tried to stop you two before."

"How much would your discount get off?"

"Well-"

Sive tugs Darcin down by his ear, whispering something devious into it. The feeling of her hot breath on his ear makes it twitch and makes him squirm a bit, shifting his weight, but he tries to keep still enough to listen.

"Um... She says it gets you five dollars off your first ten thousand dollar cupcake and then a dollar off every ten thousand one after."

Both Cazmi and Jurrien explode at that, yelling across the counter, smacking the glass. Sive just smirks at both of them, swaying back and forth against Darcin with a sly expression as he fumbles over his words, torn between trying to settle the two men down and trying to give Sive his attention.

They're so loud and lively, it makes Trita smile. Yes, it makes her want to pin her ears back from all the noise but, more than anything, she enjoys seeing everyone happy and together.

As they continue, she slips away and sits in a small booth built into the bay window of the storefront, throwing her legs up onto it and leaning back so she can recline with her head against the frame as her eyes focus out the window. People still run by, doing this and that, going here and there, the sun warm on their faces in this unusual weather day.

When she left Portland, she wasn't sure she'd ever come back. Her career and her growing popularity and fame in it could take her anywhere in the world, keeping her bouncing around for the rest of her life. She's glad she came back, glad she could be part of this again. You never realize the comforts of home until you miss them. Sure, she may leave again if a job opportunity arises and she may even want to skip town in a couple of years. For now, this is perfect.

A flash of dark wavy hair passes by quickly on the head of a rather tall form. It catches her eye immediately, makes her sit up, ears perked. The man is several feet down the sidewalk by the time she's able to focus on him. He's slender, tall, hair a mess, mechanic suit... He almost looks like... No, that's not right. Definitely the wrong person. The harder she looks, the more differences she can see, the main one being the glimpse she got of his eyes. Hazel, not blue. Wrong person.

That does get her mind combing back through some memories, though. She rests back again, lets her ears fall as her mind wanders. Maybe that's one thing that is missing from all of this, one missing piece of the puzzle. Granted, she still is happy even though it, he, or someone like him, isn't here, but... What would it be like if there was someone to fill the void?

She's never been one to daydream about romantic fantasies and marriage, it's never held a passionate hold on her heart and mind. The concept is nice, so it would seem with Darcin and Sive, Cazmi and Jurrien. Maybe one day... But damn, these weren't thoughts she thought she was going to have today. Leave it to a stranger with uncanny similar features to an old fling to topple the mood.