(no subject)
=LG= Java Moon - Los Gatos - California
Java Moon is built on a contrast--the front windows let in plenty of light, but the walls are black and dark red and purple, matching darkness against it. The chairs and tables are dark wood, smooth and polished but not padded. The art for sale on the walls is photography, full of sun and vibrant greens of the mountain plants the current artist favored. The other focal point of the space is the double rows, one above the other, of huge old-time glass candy jars filled with coffee beans. One might never have guessed the beans came in so many shades of rich brown. The counter below has a very small but ever-changing selection of pastries and sandwiches, the main focus of the shop being on the different flavors of organic coffee offered. Not flavorings, to be added, but types of the coffee itself, though the jars behind are sadly only for decoration, and are not actually broached for any of the drinks.
(Exits : [O]ut )
Though the sun on the wall's photographs remains bright, the sun outside has already set. Even so, there is a certain rapidity of custom in and out of Java Moon, as people stop in for Sunday evening coffee. One corner is completely colonized by a batch of older teens, chattering in bird-bright voices about new teachers, new terms, new teams, and their derision towards all three. In the opposite corner, not quite as far as she can get from the gaggle, but nearly so, Grace has settled, a small brown sparrow to the teens' flitting tropical birds, for all that her plumage is done in shades of blue - faded denim jeans, sapphire-bright tee. She drinks tea rather than coffee, though the amount of frothed milk in her large cup makes it hard to distinguish by glance, and nibbles sporadically at an early-season apple pastry, looking lost in thought but for the occasional curious dart of her gaze.
A pair of brunettes enters, one large and one quite small: Sal, whose long stride is as much stalk as it is walk, all sunglasses and easy, commanding swagger even with Jimmy, attendant, perched on a hip. The deep breath Sal takes at the door could be steeling herself; it isn't. The glance around the coffee shop, obscured by her sunglasses, could be casual; it isn't. (That it lingers, briefly, on Grace could be coincidence; it isn't.) They move to the counter, where Jimmy squirms; Sal loses her sunglasses to him as she places their order.
Grace doesn't watch, not in any real sense of the word, and crowded as the room is, her shields are held tight. Still, she is first and foremost an investigator, even after nearly a year spent playing spy; she notes the commanding air, the not-quite-casual glance. She notes the glasses-theft, too, and the corners of her mouth turn up slightly in the vague amusement of one who is fond enough of children to enjoy their antics, though she covers the expression with another sip from her cup.
Maybe the service is really, really good here all the time -- or maybe it's just really, really good, because even with a toddler on her hip Sal doesn't seem the type to have patience for slow service. Whatever the reason, their order is up in a fairly short amount of time. Even superwomen only have two hands, though, and when the choice is between the hot coffee and the small son already squirming and demanding to be let down, well. Sturdy, and by now fairly steay on his feet, it's Jimmy who directs their course when he takes off like a determined little rocket, Sal in hot (if, says her expression, -tolerantly- amused) pursuit. "Jimmy," doesn't get him to /stop/, but he slows up, drawing ever-Graceward.
Grace's attention sharpens at the incoming child-rocket; her expression skews mildly sympathetic, however, rather than taking on the sort of unease many adults display at the sudden onrush of small things. "Hello there," she says, gaze flicking between boy and mother in a manner that distributes the greeting evenly, even if her voice is pitched to catch the attention of the former and slow him for easier capture.
It's the voice that does it, snaps features and scent together to tug on memory; Sal is a little bit easier letting Jimmy approach Grace after the greeting, and when he stops, utterly enthralled, she doesn't deposit her things on the nearest table and scoop him away but slows, assessing. "Grace," she greets, accent Midwest-flat rather than her cousin's region-specific Texan, and tips her head to the seat nearest; Jimmy, apparently, has decided that he must now bestow upon Grace his mother's sunglasses, an presents them with bright-eyed, chubby-fisted solemnity.
Grace bears that assessment with an ease that owes more to quiet confidence than any blindness to its presence. "Ms Harper," she returns, smile edging fractionally wider. "Go ahead." To Jimmy, she offers a more solemn smile, and asks gravely as she accepts the glasses, "What's that you've got there?" as though it must be something of great importance.
Sal takes her seat; Sal takes up all the space surrounding it, for all that even at five-nine, she is slim. For herself, there is coffee, black, and some sort of apple pastry similar to Grace's; for Jimmy, just the latter. "Thank you," is returned, and Sal splits her attention between Grace and the dark-haired, dark-eyed boy informing her, "Gasses," and breaking into a wide grin. "He likes you," Sal muses, blowing on her coffee before taking a sip. From her gaze, level and direct, she could just as easily be talking about another J Harper in their mutual acquaintance.
"Did your mom say you could have these?" Grace asks of Jimmy, though her tone and smile take on a conspiratorial cast, I-won't-tell-if-you-won't. Somewhere down the line, the petite ex-Fed has apparently developed a passing familiarity with the intricacies of dealing with small boys. "--So it seems," comes more serious, if still friendly.
Someone does a bobblehead impression, and it isn't Sal. "You'll be careful, of course," is deceptive in its mild delivery: Sal watches Grace over the edge of her cup, gaze sharp on the other woman's features. Jimmy has none of his mother's reservations: he mobs Grace at the knees, a probably-a-hug that ends up more a smoosh-faced grab.
"I'm always careful," Grace says, quiet and steady and lacking the off-the-cuff arrogance that usually comes with that sort of statement. She is cautious, certainly, and cracks her shields enough to test the air between herself and Sal with a telepathic adder tongue. She sets the glasses down on the table, already cluttered with plates and her own cup, and presses one slim hand briefly against Jimmy's back, which is as much of a return hug as one can really give someone who has decided to attach themself to one's lower legs. By the faint furrow of her brow, this development is certainly bemusing. Kids Are Odd. "Why don't you go see your mom, hmm? I think she's got something for you."
That telepathic tongue reveals that, while Sal may now have slightly more knowledge of who-what Grace is, that Jack as kept her (and, thus, X-Factor's new ones) to himself; her mind is, as always, flatscan-shielded in a way that is habitual rather than because she feels it specifically, situationally necessary. Her regard of Grace is much as it appears: cooly assessing, though not, notably, unkindly; concern for Jack is less buried than it could be, while there is, also notably, none for Jimmy. "James Oliver," isn't quite you're-in-trouble toned, but it is very much Mom Voiced, "She needs her legs, and you don't. Come here," is aided in execution by a lean to the side, a firm grip on the back of his overalls that she uses to quickly (maybe a little too quickly, too easily) lever him up onto his chair, "sticky bun."
If Grace notes that too quick, too easy, it doesn't show; X-Factor's files are extensive, and she's been through a number of them recently. "There must," she says, mild and just a little amused, "be something about the psychological make-up of young boys that makes them magnetically attracted to knees."
While it is not, in fact, a sticky bun in front of him, that seems to be the code word for 'pastry' or possibly just 'delicious thing you can tear apart and consume at least part of.' Thusly: the protest in -his- buzzy-buzz little mind dies before it makes it to Jimmy's lips, and he starts tearing at flakey pastry goodness. "Possibly actual magnets," Sal allows, amusement a faint and smokey curl through her voice. "Or a desperate need to be the king of the mountain already expressing itself."
The corners of Grace's mouth twitch slightly in suppressed laughter at Jimmy's assault on the pastry. She reclaims her mug, curling it between both hands before raising it to take a sip. "I don't think we'll ever know for sure," she replies.
"At least not until well after mastery of the letter 'l'." Sal's expression echoes Grace's, if subtly: the twitch of the corners of her mouth, its slight sideways skew all hint at laughter, if tamed and tempered. Jimmy looks up at Sal, then over at Grace, bright-eyed and chipmunk-cheeked, grinning around a handful of mashed apple pastry. "Applllllll," is, probably, just to get Sal's goat. Or because end-word ls are easier than mid-word ones, who knows.
"Then again," Grace says, a faint shiver of humour running through her voice. Anything further she might say is pre-empted by the chime of her phone, and she disentangles one hand from her mug and pulls it from her pocket to check the faceplate. "My sister," she explains, pushing up to her feet. "I should get this. It was nice running into you." This is - apparently not insincere.
"It was," is similarly -- oddly -- sincere, though Sal doesn't have much time to ruminate on the sincerity herself: as Grace takes her call, she very slightly too-quicks to keep Jimmy, still beaming, from toppling off his chair. "Take care," is shaded with more significance than the two words, from two people who have met only once before in passing, probably require. Then again, her mind flavors it with the layers her voice does not, that her direct gaze conveys well enough on its own: it isn't just care of /herself/ she bids Grace to take. Jimmy commands her attention again, however, so she leaves her goodbye at that.
Accidental encounters.