Realistic or Modern Dumped Coffee

[nomuseneeded]

Estelle hit a bad spot. Dead end job. No love life. Hardly a social life. It didn’t matter what they did. All their efforts ended in failure. They’d fallen deep into depression and spent long and lonely nights and days when they weren’t at work holed up in their apartment. It isn’t until a trip to their usual cafe where they gaze upon Russell for the first time. It’s not exactly a pretty sight. Not at first. Russell was entering the cafe and a waiter, who hadn’t been paying attention, ran directly into them, spilling the freshly cleared remaining iced coffees from the guests at a table all down their shirt.
Estelle was sure they’d do the same as them, half mumble before turning a million shades of red even though it was the waiter’s fault. Russell met the collision with the brightest of smiles and Estelle found themselves instantly enthralled. Since when did that happen? That Estelle had interest in something? They had to admit, Russell radiated with happiness. Estelle could definitely learn a thing or two at the very least from them...

 

[nomuseneeded]

Character Sheet

Name: Russell
Nickname(s): Russ
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Orientation: Straight

Likes: Cats, the violin, soft lighting, hoodies, black coffee, comic books
Dislikes: Loud music, dogs, sugary foods and drinks
Fears: Crowds, having a meltdown in a bad location.

Personality: Russell comes across at first as always happy. In reality, he is a very happy man, especially when he is able to stick to his routines. He likes making friends, and one on one conversations, though groups can be a little overwhelming to him. His autism affects him somewhat in his daily life, but he would say it simply makes him who he is.

Appearance: Russell is tall and thin. He has a mess of dark curls. He owns a lot of shirts with cats on them. His eyes are blue, and his skin pale.

 

[Gemma Nye]

Estelle Marie Lancaster

 

[nomuseneeded]

Russell was a man of habit. He got up every morning and had a large coffee, black, at precisely 6:53. He didn't make his own coffee, because the first time he tried he burned himself. Now he waited for the cup to become lukewarm. After that, he went to work as a cat groomer. It meant he got fleas often, but besides that he absolutely loved his job. And they made sure to keep him away from all dogs.

After he worked for six hours he ate lunch. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich, celery, and a piece of dark chocolate. Then he worked for three and a half more. After that, he went home. If it was a Wednesday, that meant going to his father's for dinner. If it was Thursday, it meant going to his mother's. His mother had little stepchildren at home, which he liked, even though they made dinner unpredictable and sometimes touched him without asking.

If it were any other day he ate dinner at home. Mondays were pasta, Tuesdays tacos, Fridays home made macaroni and cheese, and the weekends varied. Saturday nights he had one friend over, and made them something they would like. Sundays he ate out with one person, and generally got chicken fingers. Off the kids menu if they would let him. Sometimes he ate two meals at the restaurant, the first time as practice so he could take in the surroundings without the pressure of having to keep up conversations.

He went to bed promptly at ten, after watching an hour of a crime show, and reading an hour of a book the librarian picked out for him. Sometimes he'd re-read it three or four times in the space of a lending period. He never took it back early or checked it out again.

Today was the second Tuesday of the month. A library day. He had just gotten a new book. He wanted to read it, but he found himself unnaturally tired. He decided, with some uncertainty, to go back to the coffee shop at 4:30 after work. It was against his routine, but he tried to be spontaneous once a month. He supposed that made it less spontaneous.

There was a different barista there then normal, he noticed when he walked in. They wouldn't know what he wanted. But he supposed he could tell them. He took a few steps in, and suddenly something warm cascaded down his front. A man stood in front of him.

"Shit," the man said. He swore, was what Russell noticed. His mother told him other people would swear, because other people broke the rules, but he shouldn't.

"It's okay," Russell said. "You don't need to swear." He swore, because he was upset. That was a way to tell emotions he had learned. Russell didn't want him to be upset. He looked up at him with a smile, trying to meet his eyes.

"I can pay to replace the hoodie," the man said. Russell looked down. His 100% cotton hoodie was covered in deep brown.

"It's okay, it's my blue hoodie, which isn't as nice as my green one. I think I'll just get another green one instead."

"Well, I'll pay for it," the man repeated. Russell laughed.

"You don't need to say it again. I heard you. But you don't need to. I wanted an excuse to buy another green hoodie, but my mom said there's no need to have four hoodies at once. Maybe I'll get one with cats on it."

"Well, I hope you find a hoodie you like," the man said, and went to get back in line for new coffee. "At least go before me," the man said.

"Thank you," Russell said, and got in line. He decided his spontaneous thing would be to read at the shop, to be able to learn to deal with the noise, so he ordered his large black coffee and found a corner seat, ignoring his stained hoodie entirely and waving to the man as he left.

 

[Gemma Nye]

Elle had watched the entire encounter as it played out, genuinely floored by how calm the guy was after getting coffee dumped on him.

Well.

Right now, if she'd been the one to have coffee spilled all over her, she wouldn't mind all that much because she basically looked like a bum in her old tshirt and ripped jeans she wore whenever she painted. She actually would't care at this very moment about the outfit getting wet. But she couldn't deny her frustration would probably come forward because even if the outfit was unimportant, she would still be wet and would have to go all the way back home to change. What was she saying? No she wouldn't.

Elle visited this cafe after just finishing a large mural for a dance studio in the area. She didn't live far from here, but there was a really tasty coffee bar just down the street from her partner, so she never necessarily had to visit this one. But she liked it. It wasn't quite as quiet as the other, but she couldn't deny it wasn't that bad. Elle didn't like loud people-esque noises. Sure, she bumped her music probably far too loud for what is safe for an ear. What she hated was people everywhere making noises and talking a whole bunch. A conversation with a single person had come to make her cringe, the way her life had been and the way she was now.

So why was it she all of a sudden felt the urge to talk to him? The weird sensation bothered her and just the notion of conversation made her skin crawl. But in the good way? This was so stupid. Her hazel eyes watched the man get his coffee and go over to his seat... waving to the fellow that spilled coffee on him??? Elle was so enthralled in all of this. It pissed her off. How in the hell could he be so calm? Elle brewed over her brew, brow furrowed as she remained deep in thought. She purposefully diverts her eyes so that he doesn't catch her staring, as she was oft to do, though equally often, it was just her staring off into nothing in particular. Her lips parted to wrap around the straw of her iced coffee, eyes rolling back into her head in utter bliss as her tongue was blessed again with the bold and luscious taste of the hazelnut cream goodness. Beignet's, the cafe by her home, offered an equally tasty iced coffee she partook in regularly.

Elle never was that much into coffee before moving here. She had other....things...she was hooked on. That also kept her from making conversation with anyone. Who wanted to hang out with a junkie? Plenty of people, really, just not anyone she should be hanging out with since all they did was reinforce her bad habits. Luckily, she'd kicked drinking, seeing that was the most easily accessible vice she'd fallen victim to. She never went to AA; she hated people. She never went to therapy; she hated the idea of talking to someone aimlessly while they just took notes and assume they know everything about someone and have them figured out. The thought made her eyes roll, recalling her mother's desperate attempts to get the girl to shape up and get a grip on her life. Good thing she dropped alcohol just in time to pick up party drugs. Elle's spin with ecstasy and molly were very, very, very short lived as she actually managed to burn her own self out on it after going in a little too hard one night. Then there was that time she did crystal meth. That was a mistake, though. At the party, they told her it was a line of coke, and that person thought it had been. Somehow, the two wound up exchanging numbers and both attested to the worst two days of their lives. Honestly. It was.

Elle remembered that night as being awesome and she was so incredibly high. For a moment, she could swear it was the best high she'd ever experienced. The music was right, the dancing was right, she didn't even care that guys were dancing up on her. She was sure she made out with several girls that night. Not all that long had passed though after that line in the bathroom when she was wrangled back into the handicap stall again where there were more lines waiting for her (and the girl she'd befriended the first time). But she was still high so she asked why anyone was back at it in here. "Oh, this is cocaine. Thought you might want a bump." There in the bathroom stall, she and that random girl learned they'd been given a line of crystal meth because they seemed like 'they'd be into it'. Elle honestly hated herself that night and increasingly more so as time went on. She literally was awake for two fucking days straight. Two! It was dreadful.

Of course, Elle hardly learned her lesson, but she found someone trustworthy that only deals to a small circle, and every so often she found herself sending a text to pick up a very special packet. She had cut down considerably and now mostly dealt with psychedelics and things that grew naturally from the ground, but addiction was a bitch. And she unfortunately folded sometimes.

Her eyes then had wandered back over to the man, eyeing him again. Her dirty blonde hair, platinum at the tips, but overall a fading lilac color from her last dye job, fell over her face some, covering half her freckled visage. She eyed the massive stain on his hoodie and cringed. Really, there were many things she didn't like, but a ruined outfit was a travesty. The anxiety made her tongue so stiff and all she wanted to do was speak out to him. Eventually, she forced her mouth open and in meaning to sort of start a conversation in order to make a suggestion, she kind of just blurts it out.

"I'm not sure how far you live, but as long as that hoodie isn't completely dry, a cycle through the wash with some stain remover will more than likely get it out. A lot of stains are more reversible the sooner you work on getting them out. There's also this really great spray that can lift any remnants right out. My clothes are ruined with paints and dyes, so they're a lost cause, but I'm terribly clumsy so I always have something like that and I've managed to find it works really, really,..., well,....." Aaaaaand, she was rambling. Elle shut right up and glanced down at her coffee, cheeks threatening to burn a bright pink from the sheer anxiety tugging at her every being.

 

[nomuseneeded]

Russell wasn't good at tuning out noises. It had never been his strong suit. But still, he didn't realize the comment was directed at him. He had come to be better with going into the world of his book, even without noise cancelling headphones on. He thought that was a sign of progress.

But the words still flowed, in one ear and out the other. He heard the explanation of how to clean clothes, and realized he needed to clean clothes. Even if they were at a coffee shop there couldn't be too many people struggling with coffee stains.

When he did realize she was talking to him he slowly set his book down in front of him, and turned to her with a smile, showing a perfect row of white teeth. He didn't exactly meet her eyes, but his body language was open, inviting conversation. His legs spread and his hands rested on his knees.

"But today's not a laundry day," he said. The words were out of his mouth before he realized she might not understand. Other people didn't have the routines he did. He hoped she would come to understand what he meant.

His mother always encouraged him to try to be understandable to others. She pushed for him to be normal, whatever the cost. His father was different. He encouraged him to do what made him happy, whatever other people would say. Russell tried to fall somewhere in the middle.

He pushed his hair away from his eyes, the curls catching on his fingertips. "I do laundry on Saturday's," he tried. And it was true. But it was another routine. He tried to search for a reason she would understand.

"It doesn't bother me much," he said. "I've had this hoodie for years, and I could use another." He looked down at it, and poked the stain, then let out a little chuckle. It was still wet, and sticky, and a little bit warm. The shirt he wore underneath kept the coffee from really reaching his skin, but he hoped it hadn't soaked his other shirt too. That was one of his favorites.

"Oh! I forgot my manners," he said, looking back up. "I'm Russell," he held out his hand. Some people tried to hug when they met new people. That was why he always held up his hand. He wanted to try and force that distance. He didn't exactly hate hugs, his mother had gotten him used to them, but if he had the choice he would always choose a nice firm handshake. His father taught him those.

His mom would've scolded him for not introducing himself right away. She was big on manners. Eating the food you were given, and dressing up at appropriate times. He had been a problematic child for her. His father was more understanding. Russell thought he might have to tell him about the situation later.

How would he describe it, he wondered. A beautiful lady told me how to clean my clothes. Because she was a beautiful lady. His dad was waiting for him to meet one. Specifically the one, whatever that meant. He doubted that one was her, but he figured any pretty lady was important enough to mention.

He didn't talk often to beautiful ladies. He supposed Mrs. Bailey at the shop was pretty for her age, but a nicely dressed grandmother wasn't the same thing as a beautiful lady. Sometimes pretty women came in to drop off or pick up their cat, but Russell rarely interacted with customers. They had an assistant for that.

Now that there was a beautiful lady he wasn't sure what exactly to say. He felt like every bit of silence needed to be filled. "You're very beautiful, by the way," he added, unaware of any social normalities that would keep him from such a statement.

 

[Gemma Nye]

Beautiful? She could gag. Sure, she had picturesque blonde hair that she dyed all colors of the rainbow and true hazel eyes that not only could barely be read as green or brown from a far, but even contained a mixture of the two within the vortex of her irises. Elle was popular in high school for her beauty and she never really cared. She always had some amount of anti-social tendencies about her as she preferred the resounding peach of a quiet room in which to paint or write in, but it wasn't something she shrug off. Even now, with her being more anti-social than ever, Elle was never rude. Except when she was feening and she tried her very best not to even go out or avoid as much interaction as possible when she was.

Her thoughts then shifted back to something he'd said in his words previous. Laundry day? What's a stained hoodie got to do with laundry day? She guessed perhaps she meant he should do an entire load of laundry. This brought a shake to her head as she glanced at him, giving him a smile. "I mean, I feel like you'd be lucky to have coffee spilled on you on laundry day. It's a little extra work, but if you like that hoodie, the stain will come out. Of course I was referring to washing only the hoodie itself, not for you to do your laundry early...." She trailed off, trying to collect her thoughts. She was rambling again. Her conversational skills had definitely suffered tremendously.

She hadn't been sitting far from the man in the cafe, both of them having chosen the quietest part of the establishment which was off the main part of the room in its own outlet. She figured he was trying to escape the noise, too. When he introduced himself, Elle opened her mouth to tell him her name, but stopped short as she saw his hand go out. Part of her cringed a bit. That's horrible to say. Russell's curls were honestly enough to make her go weak-kneed with him posed with the cityscape in the distance while she viewed him from behind a canvas. And now of course she had the terrible sudden urge to draw him. She shook off the feeling and reached her hand out to take his and shake it for a moment before releasing it. Russell, indeed, wasn't bad to look at, at all, but in general, Elle's history--and her history with people--made her wary of physical contact sometimes. Honestly, overall, with nothing personal, the thought of being in a crowd with so many people to possibly touch and bump into her made her skin crawl. The anxiety was astounding. She didn't mind a handshake, though, it was a perfectly polite thing to do in greeting or in thanks in lieu of the worst. A hug. Oh god. There went the cringe again.

Elle remembered the woman downstairs had seen a canvas painting she had been toting downstairs to take to a client and Mrs. Hitchfeld commissioned Elle to paint a small mural for the five year old daughter in her new room. The idea was simple so Elle agreed. The child loved the ocean and had everything mermaid. Due to timing, as Elle had a couple other projects at that point that spring, she could only do one wall. She painted a realistic, but still fantastic enough for a child, ocean scene on the girl's wall, even including some dolphins and several other sea creatures. Elle gave the ocean scene colorful reefs and many types of fish so that all the girl had to do was look at her wall and feel like she was right there in the thick of it. Louise, is her name, Elle supposed. Whatever her name was, she wrapped herself around Elle's legs upon seeing the finished work and her newly furnished bedroom. Mrs. Hitchfeld flagged Elle down a few weeks later and told her that Louise raves about her ocean room to everyone and loves playing in the sea. Which is great for an artist to hear. But just that child hugging her so tightly sent all sorts of cringe up and down Elle's spine. Normally, she liked to keep a fair bit of distance between her and someone else.

She'd been genuinely caught off guard by his compliment not because she never got them, but she never got them after rambling on to a stranger. "Thank you, by the way. For your compliment. I was just thinking about how glorious your hair is. I love curls and wish I had them, but all I can manage naturally are these beach waves," Elle chuckled dryly. "You'd be a dream to draw or paint. I'm Elle." She never introduced herself as Estelle. Almost no one that's met her since she graduated college knew her name even had more to it. She tried to weed out the Est in college, but it was difficult because teachers introduced her as Estelle in roll call and she still had to put Estelle on various forms and whatnot. But now that she was free from that, she just went by Elle.

"It's really nice to meet you. You're very kind hearted, Russell. Not a lot of people are as nice about things as you are. I know I'm sure not."

 

[nomuseneeded]

"Maybe I'll do that," Russell said. He knew it was very unlikely he would do it. He would rather buy a new hoodie than do laundry on a day that wasn't laundry day, but he learned sometimes it was best to agree with people. They didn't much care whether or not what they thought was best would fit into routines. They didn't understand that without routines his life went spiraling out of his control, and there was no way to tell whenever he'd be able to put it back on track again. So he just agreed, and bought 100% cotton clothes online.

She didn't seem to appreciate the compliment. He wondered if he had done something wrong. Normally when he said nice things about people, they said thank you right away, and sounded what he had learned was happy. But his mom had warned him that no matter how pretty a girl was, you weren't meant to stare. He wondered if maybe he was being creepy, just like then. "Is it okay that I called you beautiful?" he asked. "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. I promise I'm not going to hurt you."

He liked touching her, even the little handshake. Not sexually, but more comfortingly. Which was strange, because Russell didn't like physical contact as a rule. Handshakes were simply mandatory. But touching her was nice. She was warm, but not sweaty, and she didn't hold onto his hand too long. If handshakes were always like that he wouldn't have complained about them so much when he was younger.

Russell was surprised she commented on his hair. He didn't get compliments often; he thought it was probably because he was a bit awkward socially, and unsure of how to interact with others. He reached up and touched one of his curls, trying to decide what was nice about it. "Thank you," he said. "I don't do anything to them though, so I guess I'm really just lucky." He wondered if Elle did a lot to make herself so pretty. Since he had so much trouble with eye contact he generally didn't notice makeup, but he knew she was pretty.

"You could draw me if you wanted," Russell said. He was surprised when it came out of his mouth. It seemed like such a new experience, being drawn. His spontaneous thing for this period had already happened, coming to get coffee a different time than average. He wondered what exactly he was getting into. "I mean, obviously, you can draw whatever you want and I can't stop you, but I won't get mad," he clarified. He wondered if he'd have to sit still for a long time, like in the titanic. He hoped she didn't mean without him wearing clothes, that sounded awkward.

 

[Gemma Nye]

Elle couldn't help herself and before she knew it, her full lips were stretching into probably the most amused smile she could fashion. "No, no," her voice was calm and even as she corrected him. Elle didn't really like social interaction all that much, but she was very patient and generally friendly in nature. Just because she preferred as few humans and noise around her as possible didn't mean she couldn't ham it up. And she honestly didn't ham it up, she made a conscience choice to not just be miserable and anti-social. She'd do her time and be polite and engage in conversation. Russell didn't make this process feel laboring for her, though, and that was a relief. She actually had no opposition to the conversation.

"I get it pretty often," she began talking again in the same low voice she always did. Which was something of note about her. She didn't like being in crowds because not everyone's voice pleased her ear, especially all of them at once having their own conversations. It drove her nuts some days if she doesn't prepare for it. She usually walked around with headphones on to just play her music and tune everyone out. She'd forgotten them today, to her folly. "Of course it's okay, Russell. I didn't mean to make you feel unsure about your compliment. It was well placed and well received." Elle gave him a reassuring smile as she lifted her cup to her lips to take a drink.

She watched him rustle in his curls, spurred on by her mentioning of it. This made her smile twist up at the corners a bit and she chuckled very lightly. "Please, don't let me coerce you into something you don't want." Her finger raised to tap her temple, the blonde waves rustling with the movement as they cascaded over her shoulder. Her hair was getting long, honestly as he hadn't had it cut since the last time she bleached it and not a trim since she dyed it and the once vibrant color was now very nearly completely faded.

"But, if you felt so inclined," she began after a small pause. "It'd be a couple of hours of your time. At least. Usually how long it takes depends on how long my muse can sit still." She couldn't help but chuckle, knowing most people she did portraits of lacked the ability to do so for all that long. "For the most part, I work fairly quickly so with your cooperation I get as much done until you need a break." Elle shrugged. At this point in her life, being a freelance artist, she did need to be commissioned for her work so that she can pay her bills, but there's also the concept of portfolio. Between her jobs, she often did free tasks on the side to put her work out there. She didn't always mind not getting paid. It had been a while since she'd done a portrait and Elle wouldn't really do them all that frequently throughout her career. Elle was a good artist, she supposed, but she did portraits for honing technical skills as opposing to staking her claim on them. She mostly dabbled in murals and large scale pieces. Being so strung out for a period of her life, she got a taste of the wild eccentricity and it unfortunately latched itself to her. She didn't feel very much zeal for life except for when she was painting those large work and when she was high, which was more so the case than the former.

Her eyes did narrow a bit as she mulled over his last comment after responding to his possible interest in being drawn. "Consent is very important, Russell. In many aspects." Her voice was solemn as he spoke. "Of course, if we were sitting here and I pulled out my sketchbook and got to work with or without telling you, you're free to get up and move if you are not comfortable. But for me to tell you to sit still for two hours isn't right... You should do so because you want to, you know?" Elle definitely could name her fair share of issues involving consent in various areas, so she knew just how uncomfortable it felt not only to be forced into something without asking for it, but to be pressured into it, as well. If he was interested, she'd draw him, absolutely. Elle knew how to let it go, though. By no means did Elle intend on soliciting a portrait to his man like a box of girl scout cookies.

Among all of this, Elle didn't feel uncomfortable. Actually, she felt unusually comfortable talking with Russell. Not that it bothered her, but she couldn't deny it provided her with a less familiar feeling than she could say she was previously used to. But it was definitely something she could get used to. Elle felt her cheeks warming a bit so she diverted her eyes and took a sip of her coffee again. What was happening right now? She'd stopped off for a coffee in a different cafe than normal and now she's met the first person in a really, really, really long time that doesn't make her feel so uncomfortable she cringes from the social interaction? In that same breath, Elle's thoughts returned to darkness. Perhaps she was supposing too much. Regardless of today, the fact remained that Elle still had ties with drugs, including not having totally kicked her cocaine habit. She's very close to being clean, but her lonely and dreary life sometimes called for escape.

If her mental state was cloudy, usually weed cleared it up. Most of her days were cloudy. If she felt a heavy rain day coming, she'd look for shrooms, or acid if she can, to block out as much of the day as possible. But if a hurricane came, and she'd worked on building her foundations to make her stronger against it, she did her damnedest, but coke starts looking real good at that point. Of course she went to great lengths before resorting to it and had managed to be clean off of it for two whole months and she in general went months without having it. Who wanted a junkie? Her last relationship ended when her ex found the small baggie with just the white powder remnants of her slip up in the trashcan one day when he let himself into her apartment when she was on her way home. He'd been furious, and she'd be furious, too. However, it was Elle that broke up with him because he assumed she shot up, which is a valid connection, but something she had never done and will never do. She didn't deny being scum for resorting to things that alter that state of the mind. Assuming she was a heroin fiend, though, went entirely too far especially for him not to even consider the things she'd gone through in life that brought her to this point and how far she'd come since reaching her peak.

Russell was probably too good for her, though. She didn't deserve a handsome and perfectly nice man to treat her right and love her the way she always wished someone would. Not like this, even though she was doing so much better.

 

[nomuseneeded]

"Well if a lot of people call you that it's probably true," Russell said. It wasn't that he didn't trust himself exactly-- Russell knew he was smart despite the autism. Maybe not a genius, but when he could focus he never had any trouble in school. Not academically at least.

Russell took a drink as she did, and remembered some of the articles he had studied in high school, when he had been trying to find a girlfriend. Mirroring, that was a sign of attraction. And once the word came into his head he knew it was true. He was attracted to Elle. There wasn't much he could do to change that.

He decided it wasn't a bad thing. His dad had explained to him, during the same high school period, that there was nothing wrong with being attracted to someone. But he had to be nice about it. He explained how normally, people started with friendships, then dates, then dating. It was always nice when Russell got all the rules. It made things easier for him.

"Are we friends?" Russell asked. He didn't realize how jolting the question would be. He had asked before how to know whether or not you were friends with someone. They were someone you talked with, who was nice to you, and you liked being with. Elle seemed to be all those things. But he thought nothing was wrong with checking to be sure.

"I'm really good at staying still, as long as I'm not upset," Russell said. "And I don't think you drawing me would make me upset." He wondered though, how he'd feel, eyes constantly on him. He supposed he wouldn't have to meet her eyes, and then it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe it would be a helpful thing he could do, letting her draw him. Russell liked being helpful.

"If you wanted to come see me on Saturday I could make you dinner first and then you could draw me. If we're friends. On Saturdays I eat dinner with a friend." He knew he probably sounded stupid, explaining his routines. He already had seen she didn't understand them. But he wanted to be friends with her, which meant eventually they would have to hang out.

"And you're not forcing me to do anything," Russell said. He liked the woman, the way she wasn't afraid to talk to him first, and complimented his niceness and his hair. A pretty woman, who knew a lot about laundry and didn't find him creepy. He hoped she liked him too.

 

[Gemma Nye]

Elle considered his words. She knew she was beautiful. She'd known this since the first buds of womanhood popped up on her chest. The way the boys flocked to her and her beach blonde waves. The way the girls hated her for being a natural blonde. But it never occurred to Elle that these things were most important. In fact, she felt the opposite. She understood how constricting such qualifications are at a young age. Boys didn't want anything but to cop a feel and see how far they could get. In general, she felt a lot of fluidity in her sexuality, but even the women she dated were often very into appearances. They thought she was hot and their affection only came as long as she maintained that appearance. She was never saved from such expectation even when she didn't expect the same out of her partner. Elle could care less what someone looked like, really. Because first and foremost, they couldn't annoy the fuck out of her. No looks in the world could save someone from the door closing in their face if they think that she couldn't be turned off by someone vapid, shallow or egotistical.

Russell seemed to be genuine in his complimenting, which was why she didn't mind receiving it whatsoever. The words retained their innocence and Elle could see it came from a true place. His train of thought made her giggle, but she followed along just fine, setting her coffee down and uncrossing her legs so that she could face him better. This entire time, she'd been facing in toward the table instead of out and toward him. With her body facing more directly at him, her form became much more visible. She was petite, for sure, but her curvature didn't exactly lack. She didn't have the most exaggerate curves of any girl, yet her body was filled out well. She enjoyed the modesty. There was enough to grab on and she wasn't overflowing with junk in the trunk.

"Sure, Russell. We're friends." Her voice was more cheerful than she remembered it sounding. The sound rang in her ears weirdly as she couldn't really believe the lilts returning to her voice and the very notes breathed life into the air around her. Her voice, normally, did happen to be a little bit monotonous unless she was excited about something. Art and a good story idea were things that excited her. They were the only thing that brought any sort of warmth to her life. Everything else is just desolate and empty. Only, she felt giddy now, just talking with Russell. In honesty, she wasn't sure how long Russell would stay friends with her, considering her past and her habits, but she shoved the thought to the back of her mind. Not to say he was just all hogwash, but many people turned out to be temporary in her life. She would allow things to unfold.

"I would try very hard not to make you upset. I definitely don't want that. I'm free Saturday evening, I guess..." Her voice trailed off as she thought ahead into the week. Saturday yielded necessity of some time to work on her piece, but she could do that during the day. "It should work. I will gladly be your dinner guest." She chuckled a bit and took a sip of her coffee. "Would you like me to bring anything to contribute? Side dish? Dessert? Drinks? Well, I don't drink alcohol, but I can bring lemonade." Her eyes then scanned the room around her. "Or coffee. You seem like you visit this place often. Do you live near? I'll stop by and bring us a fresh batch on Saturday."

 

[nomuseneeded]

Coffee on a Saturday night. That would be another break from ritual. But he reminded himself that wasn't a bad thing. Besides, he wanted to seem as normal as possible to her. Maybe that way she would like him. He wasn't sure if that was really all it took, but he knew being autistic certainly didn't seem to work. He had went on a handful of dates, and only one person who could reasonably be called a girlfriend, and even that didn't last long.

He remembered Ayah. She was Syrian, and beautiful. Those were the first two things he had learned about her. Her English was practically impeccable; her family had made the voyage when she was young. She took a liking to him when she brought her cat over for grooming. She hadn't known about his autism. Russell told himself maybe that was what made the difference. She had found out, of course. In fact, he had told her. And it wasn't as if she broke up with him immediately. They had dated for almost two months. She was a successful freelance editor, and offered to help Russell if he wanted to go to college. She said he was smart, wasted as a cat groomer. He said he was happy.

In the end, he supposed they broke up amicably. Ayah said she wanted someone who was going somewhere in life. Russell was disappointed, but didn't bother saying it. He didn't think he had a chance to change her mind. He loved her, and yet he knew he wasn't loved back. The breakup hadn't been exactly a surprise.

That was almost two years ago. He'd went on one date since then. Russell had a habit of talking too much cats and comic books. It generally turned women off him. He was getting better about realizing when he was talking more than he should about things that didn't interest other people. The specialist had worked with him on non-verbal cues. He didn't think he saw any non-verbal cues saying he was annoying quite yet.

When she said she'd eat dinner with him he grinned from ear to ear. For a small reward to her, he looked at her eyes for a moment, then looked shyly away. Coffee would work, as long as it was with her.
"Coffee would be good," he said. "What do you like to eat?" he asked. "I like to cook, so I'll make anything you like."

 

[Gemma Nye]

She did her best to gauge his reaction, trying to decide his motives. It isn't something she ever intends to do, but in her lifetime, the snakes didn't always hide in the grass. Sometimes they were right in plain view. But Russell very visibly wasn't a snake. He was cute. Like, cute cute. Not just curls Elle found herself not only wanting to draw, but if she could ever find the courage to be close to someone, she'd die to feel his soft locks twist around her fingers.

And then she was blushing again, caught up in her daydreaming as she listened to him spoke. She glimpsed at him, catching his eye for a quick moment before the both of them diverted their stares, and now Elle could feel her cheeks absolutely burning now. She cleared her throat and offered as even a smile as possible. This could be a date. Or, he did ask her if they were friends... Elle would not be among those suave and eloquent. She fucked up most things without ever even opening her mouth, so one could imagine the amount of trouble she can get into whenever she did.

"I am a starving artist, Russell," she joked before taking another drink of her coffee. It was really good. She was glad that she'd met Russell and that she had a chance to have this delicious coffee. "Not really. I do alright for myself. I'll eat virtually anything, though. But I don't like mushrooms." Which was ironic considering she was tripping balls on them just the other day. She didn't like them, though, it was just a necessary evil. "I really like Italian. Pasta is my favorite. Whatever you make is fine with me. If you have something planned for that night already or something in mind, I will eat it." She gave Russell a wide smile, one that she hadn't felt stretch across her face in a long time.

But then something occurred to her.

"Do you text? I'll give you my number so you can text me your address." Elle reached over into her bag and procured a small notebook which she used to take down various small details or things she wanted to remember for the future. She unclipped the pen from the notepad and wielded it in her left hand, taking a moment to scribble down her number and then tear the corner rectangle out to fold it up. She bites her lip and comes to a stand, moving over to him in order to pass along the piece of paper to him. Elle keeps a fair distance from him so she doesn't invade his space, but sets the paper on the table by his coffee cup. "I know today is only Tuesday, but I don't know when I'll see you next to give you a way to contact me." In the short distance back to her table, Elle hears her phone vibrate in her bag but she ignores it, continuing to speak. "We don't have to do both a drawing and a dinner in one night. That'll be quite a long time together. Not that that's bad.. I just mean, y'know, it will be a really long night and it's not like we're hanging out that whole time..." she decided to save herself from her rambling as her phone had continued to buzz, meaning someone was calling her.

"Excuse me." She pardons herself and goes back to the table, procuring her phone and swiping it to answer at the last minute. "Hello?" She listens to Susan, a gallery manager, speak for quick moment, a dark expression passing over her features. The call, in general, made her cringe as Elle hated talking on the phone. And Susan refused to text her. "Alright, it's fine. I'll just do it myself." Elle hangs up with a sigh and replaces her phone into her bag.

"I'm sorry. I have to get going." She glances out the window, seeing it getting dark. Her frown remained, thinking of the places she had to go before she could even go home. It would be much darker before she'd actually even be on her way to her apartment. "I'm apart of a committee for this art exposition at an area gallery. Where I left before coming here," she explains, gesturing to the clothes she was wearing now. The paint-stained, ripped, skinny blue jeans hugged her curves as she stood before him in sneakers. "I have to get some things to work on some color correction tomorrow, but the store won't open to stop by on my way in the morning. I've got to go to the store now before it closes. And hope I find what I need." Elle submitted with a heavy sigh, a bit sad to have to part from Russell.

"You're welcome to text me if you want to hang sooner, though. I don't know what your schedule is like, but Saturday is a ways off. Hit me up if you want." Elle slung her bag over her shoulder, preparing to walk out of the door.