manofmyword | (no subject)

(no subject)

There is a man in the bar, sitting alone at a table for four with the Observation Window directly on his left, close enough to touch. He has an enormous glass jar of jelly beans and he is methodically sorting them by colour into a number of smaller bowls laid out in front of him.

Other things about him that might come off as odd include: the fact that he is wearing a ferociously lilac button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows under a muted green vest; the fact that he is not wearing any shoes, and his socks don't match, one of them yellow with a black pattern of bats and the other black with little yellow smiley faces; and, finally, the scars on his face, extending the sides of his mouth into a permanent crooked smile.

He might welcome company. Or he might not. It's not always easy to tell.

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". . . What on earth is all that?"

The woman peering at his jelly bean endeavor is tall, dark-haired, British, and wrinkling her nose. His table smells like an entire grocery store.

"Jelly beans," he says serenely, depositing two into a bowl with no clear theme.

"What kind?"

"All kinds."

She wrinkles her nose, sniffing again -- and taking in the man sorting the beans, too. Makeup -- gunpowder?

"How do you mean?"

"Just what it sounds like. Wanna try?" He makes an inviting gesture at the array of bowls.

"I'm not sure," she says, hooking her thumbs into her belt-loops. "Do I?"

"Up to you," he says, touching his tongue to his lips and picking out a bright red bean from a bowl full of reds and purples.

"Hmm."

Eying him and the beans, she reaches out and picks a dull orange bean.

"Any logic to this besides color?"

"Not like I can tell what they taste like until I eat 'em," he says cheerfully. "That's where the fun lies. Ooh, cherry! What's yours?"

She nibbles at the end, delicately.

". . . Squash?"

He giggles and applauds.

"Who makes squash-flavored jelly beans?"

"Somebody called Bertie, apparently."

"--What, like those books?"

"Mm?"

"The Harry Potter books?"

She has a young son; you'd better believe she knows her kids' books.

"Sure," he says agreeably.

Her eyebrows go up. "Doesn't ring a bell?"

"Mm, never read 'em."

"They're quite good." She looks him up and down again. "If you're into that sort of thing."

"Well," he says, tilting his head to one side and smiling a little under her regard, "I sure like the jelly beans."

Edited 2012-12-09 02:06 (UTC)

"There are quite a few adults who don't like to read children's books, though."

"Mm, well, I don't really care about that."

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