2019-09-15 - Sunday Morning Coffee

Sunday morning is the perfect day to get coffee! And there is one particular person who might just stand out a bit. Not only does Dylan have his sketchpad out, his right hand idly tracing and sketching by the front window, a half drank cup of tea. And then there is the fact his forehead has a few rather purple, ugly bruises, along with what appear to be stitches along his scalp. Oh, and then there is his left arm that is in a sling. He's dressed casually, cargo pants that are loose fitting, along with a white t-shirt that, for once, doesn't have splashes of paint or charcoal on it, must be new!

It's an idle in the neighborhood, but even witches and Wiccans need things like groceries and such. So it is that Cameron has come out of her chicken-legged cottage in the woods to find young children to st- Wait... No, she left her trailer to come look for normal food.

The brunette has her hair down in a pair of thick, braided pigtails that reach juuuust past her shoulders, wearing a maroon sweater under a pair of well-fitted overalls. Makeup and jewelry are not present, and there is a latte from the place down the street in her hand with which she is about to commit a capital sin with.

Cruising by the window, the slender Wiccan notices a man with a sketchpad. At first she just gives a glance as she walks by. Then she halts and stares through it, before once more moving to walk away, stopping, looking back, and then walking on. Dylan has gained a lot of attention. Not thirty seconds later, the door opens.

Inside the shop moves Cameron, who is quickly informed that outside food and beverage are not allowed, with a serious frown. She raises her eyebrows and sloooooowly moves the latte over the nearby trashcan, letting go of it to let it fall. Her toll paid, she lets her skinny legs carry her towards Dylan, pointing with an upside-down hand at the sketchpad.

"Can I see?"

Even as soaked into his work as he might be, even Dylan catches sight of the brunette in pigtails that is cruising for accessories on her gingerbread cottage to lure in child-err, groceries when she comes back by the water. Up his eyebrows come in a quizical look at first, and then that expressive face gets a bit more concerned as she stares.

He can't help the amusement that dances on his features when she's caught red handed with those illicit goods, the broad smile flashing the pearly whites of teeth as he coos out, "Buuuusted." when she starts walking his way. And after all that? Who is he to deny her a look at what she's paid a far more than fair admission price to see.

The sketch is turned around and slid over towards her, and it looks like what would happen of Tim Burton and Ariel had a kid and he recreated The Little Mermaid. A battlefield scene is laid out, with a crab wearing a napoleonic jacket, it's claw stuffed into the thing in a perfect pose that the little frenchman himself would approve of. This glorious leader of a crab, well, she's overseeing an army of even more crabs. And shrimps manning cannons made from seashells. One also can't forget the lobster cavalry that can be seen in the far distance, seeking to outflank whatever enemy they are fighting, though they? Aren't actually on the sketch itself.

"Dylan." A beat of a pause as his good hand takes that pencil and jabs at himself in indication, "Rink." Either one seems to be adequate enough to call him, no doubt the latter a nickname. "Watchya think?"

"Yup." She pulls the corners of her mouth down and out in a comically-wide grimace that shows her teeth. "Busted worse than a teenager with beer outside the Minimart." She pulls it back into a smile as she sits down, completely uninvited to do so, one leg crossing over the other with her hands in her lap.

Cameron sits a little hunched forward, like her shoulders are trying to meet each other, but as the sketchpad is pushed towards her, she lifts both arms to take it and pull it the rest of the way. Her thick lips form a little frown, brows drawing a smidge lower while she looks at the work. "Very... Burton-esque. Burton adjacent?"

Brown eyes roam over the sketch before her, and she then begins to flip through the pad at previous drawings. Like one of those nosey people who swipes on someone's phone when being shown a picture. "Dylan Rink. Right on. Cameron. Cameron Cambridge. Or just... Cam."

"These are..." Her eyebrows bob up briefly, tilting her head in that way people do when they want to indicate something isn't quite mind-blowing, but is still pretty good. "Nice. I like the little crab guys. Hey, weird question, do you do things professionally? Like commissions?"

"Only worse," Comes his comment about just how much in trouble she is, and it is that exagerated grimace that has his eyes dancing with delight and appreciation. As if to prove the point of the right way to do it, his cup is picked up, a small drink taken from it as she starts to puruse through the sketchpad.

The one previous to it is another seafood-esque inspired surreal drawing, this time with the crabs manning shrimp boats - no, literally, boats that are bug shrimp - storming the beaches like it's normandy. Each one is pulled by a flounder. The ones before that? The next few are of the hopsital, for more realistic, which were probably done when he was far too bored sitting in a room, given the condition of his arm and head. And before that? Well, she'll just have to keep flipping!

"Burtonian." He finally decides as to the approrpiate means of describing it, clearly just pulling that thought out of thin air as a warm ripple of laughter spills fourth from him. It's how she says his name that has his brows furrowing. "Osborne." Oh god. This is going to get confusing. "Hi, Just Cam."

His head bobs up and down in an enthusiastic nod if he does professional sketching and drawing, before a puff of air escapes him, "WoW Characters," As if most of his clients are those old, fat guys who want their scantily clad night elf female avatars drawn for them. It's a lopsided smile that comes from him, before he muses, "Others, too," before turning a clearly interested, curious look upon her, one hand lifting to prop his chin on as if prepared to listen to why she's asked.

"You are on a real sea-life kick lately, aren't you?" Cameron glances over the top of the sketchpad at the male across from her. "You been watching Discovery's Blue Planet lately? It was marathoning the other day." Then she comes to the hospital ones, and once more looks up, wriggling her finger in the direction of his head.

"I'm guessing these came from when... all that there... happened." A small frown plays across her mouth, just barely tugging the corners down. "That... actually looks kind of bad. Should you be walking around? You're not one of those guys that checks themselves out early, are you?"

"Osborne." The brunette repeats the name like she's trying to make sure she remembers it. "Like Ozzy? Or like the comic book guy? You can call me 'JC' for short." A beat. "Nobody calls me that."

'WoW Characters'. That one flies right over her head, and the woman in pigtails shows it by the blank, uncomprehending, slightly-questioning look with her eyebrows partially raised she sends his way. Her entire face just says '...Elaborate?' Or maybe he thinks she can't remember her own question. Expressions are tricky like that.

"Your style's kind of cool. I have this friend, she has this band. She needs a whole bunch of fliers done and we don't know anyone who can design them. And..." Cameron glances to the side, as if searching over there for a memory, before looking back. "...I think she wanted to get an album cover done, too? It's called Amulet, they play the bars around the county. Heard of 'em?"

"Bad seafood," Is all Dylan comments upon it blandly, in that dry sort of humored tone that says there is more there. It must be the worse case of seafood poisoning ever! It's her guess as to putting two and two together with the hospital drawings that his head bobs once more, and when she talks about checking out early? It just so happens to be when he's convienently taking a big, huge gulp of his drink, unable to answer.

Laughter comes fourth as she asks about that name, and this draws another broad smile as the man leans in, peering at her closely as he asks, "Like comics?" His one good hand draws up, a finger extending out to motion from her to him, as if finally getting down to brass tacks as to what to call him for certain. "Rink."

Oh. Elaborate. This causes his mouth to slack, a twitch as he tries desperately to figure out how to boil all that down two a two word soundbite. Instead, he reaches beneath the table, tugging out another sketchpad from his messenger bag that is tucked down by his bag. It's slid over for her to view, and it's full of full colored characters from World of Warcraft. "Other stuff," He still emphasizes. Who wants to be pigeoned holed as That Guy, after all?

Back he leans into his chair as he listens, a low 'hmmmm' at the name, before his head nods. Heard of them? Yes. "Never saw," however. His tongue dips out, pressing against one side of his lower lip as he considers it, before repeating, "Fliers. Album." Yes. Nothing that he feels is beyond him. "Interested. If..." And it's there he stops. Damnit. His features scrunch up in a look of annoyance at himself for that wasted word, and his hand makes a vague gesture to all of his art, as if to indicate they'd have to like the style he produced.

"Comics are okay. Some of them. The ones drawn well." Cameron acknowledges as she slowly thumbs her way through the sketchpad towards the beginning. Her eyes roam over each piece of art as if examining it for hidden details or meaning. Occasionally she reaches out to touch a line as if expecting to feel something other than graphite on paper. "Haven't really been the same since Michael Turner died. And I kind of lost touch with them after High School. Moved away, went broke, moved back. Same old story."

"Rink." She looks up again, away from the art, pursing her lips. "Certain this time? Sounds like a story behind that one, Rink."

As the second pad is produced, the Wiccan reluctantly puts down the first and reaches for it. Fantasy characters, most of whom she doesn't recognize. Highly stylized, though, and that she can appreciate. "Other stuff." She agrees with a simple, singular, and mild up and down of her chin. When the male starts to gesture at the artwork displayed, she glances down, then back up. Clearly waiting for him to continue that train of thought. When it doesn't happen, she tries for him.

"If... we pay? Yeah, of course we would. I mean... like a hundred fifty for both? I don't have a lot, but I think whatever you do would be way better than the shit her drummer does. Guy makes things that look like Dilbert cartoons."

Finally laying both sketchpads down, Cameron raises her hands to gesture, as if the thing she were trying to describe was right in front of her. She's a gesturer, and they don't always make a lot of sense. "Like something... goth, metal, punk fantasy? Occulty a little? Something like Luis Royo might do. ...But less titty, more badass."

From that first pad, the next couple of sketches up? Well, it's right ont he mark for comics. There is a comic poster of a woman best described as, well, a hair fairy. It's all black and white, except for her hair which is a lovely shade of blonde, and a blue tint to the wings that one would picture sprouting from tinkerbell. She wields a large brush in one hand, and a barbers blade in the other. She's dressed in a lovely skirt and blouse, along with a pair of heels. And one of those heels? He's propped up on the face of a fallen guy who looks like a 80s metal hair band reject. Her whole attitude about it is best summed up as, 'Oh Great, this again.' And she? She's appropriately curvy, rather than the overly done thing in the other sketchpad.

"In rut," Dylan comments about comics these days, as if he were some eighty year old old man complaining about how things were better back in the day. A warm rumble of laughter comes, and his head dips into a nod at there being a story about that particular name, his eyes glittering with mischief, but without the actual question coming? He doesn't elaborate upon it.

It all becomes a touch more serious, and that price? It doesn't get an ounce of protest from him. It's her last words that get a raised finger that points to her, like that was the 'if' he had started to produce but couldn't in filling in the details. "Like them?" He asks about the band for inspiration, "Website?" Surely, every band has a website these days that he can use to get things from, which he explains in his own way. "Pictures. Symbols." All things that might be incorporated into the fliers and album.

Cameron lets her finger roam across the hair fairy, tracing the hair, the curves, the brush with her finger. She might wind up smudging it a little bit if she's not careful there, but the brunette seems to be in thought about the piece, teeth capturing her lower lip to give it a bit of a chew. She nods absently in agreement with the assessment of these darned kids comic books these days. Two old, fussy twenty-somethings who just can't understand this new generation of doodles. Back in THEIR day things weren't done so slovenly, I tell ya!

As a finger comes up, and then lands on the drawings, indicated them, Cam's eyes flick back up to the man known as Rink, a little look of surprise on her face like she hadn't even noticed she should probably say something along those lines if she wanted to commission something from him. "Oh. Oh, yes! These. Yes, I like these. They're kind of... funky, retro fairy tales with a New Age twist. I can dig it. A little weird, a little whimsical. It's a very unique blend."

At the mention of the website, though, she shakes her head. "Um, no. No, those cost like five hundred dollars to get done, and between paying for my own server space, and rent, one fifty is like..." She holds up a leveled-off hand out to the side as if indicating how tall a person is. "My hard limit. And I'm blowing that wad on fliers and album cover. I'm a vlogger. So that doesn't make much money. Had to apply for a job as a cocktail waitress." She looks nonplussed as she holds up a pair of slender, crossed digits. "Fingers crossed I get it. Yaaaaaaay, wage slaving." She doesn't sound at all hopeful that she will, or happy that she might.

"Mm?" She asks in reference to pictures and symbols, pressing her lips together as she makes the sound. "Oh, I'm more of a words kind of girl. Poetry, songs, that kind of thing." After a moment, a lightbulb goes off right behind her eyes. "Oh, THEIR symbols. Duh. Yeah, they mostly just stole a bunch of Wiccan and Pagan ones. Tree of Life, the Trinity symbol, dunno how that one snuck in there. Pretty much as long as it looks 'dope' or 'crazy' or 'metal', they're gonna love it. Or at least they'd better."

Dylan watches as she seems so absorbed into that particular picture, and this? It truly seems to make him happy. There is something magical about a picture capturing ones fascination, and it's expressed in the down right beaming smile that he casts to her, and the equally sincere, "Thank you," That rolls from the tip of his tongue. "My comic," He mentions as he taps that page, and the woman? There is a fancy, appropriately comic book like heading of, 'Style' for her. "Part of." A beat of a pause, as his head tips one way and then the other, "Action comedy."

When she starts to talk of the webserver and that tangeant, his eyes blink, mouth parting, trying to figure out how to explain what he'd meant. It's an interesting thing, seeing the contortion of his features, looking to figure out just which precious few words he'll use, and in the end when she mentions fingers crossed? His one good hand lifts up, all for fingers crossing, and his features are in a grimace that looks uncertain if this is all for a Good Thing or Evil, Corporate Sins thing.

"Yes!" He speaks when that lightbulb goes off, that warmth infusing the chuckle that comes from him. "Their picture?" He asks of the band, head dipping towards that page that has caught her attention. He'll need a reference, after all, if he's going to fairy-tailize them! Out his tongue sticks, twisting in a look of pure concentration as he seeks to both keep his balance and pull out his phone from his pocket, and once successful it's a few taps to get to the screen that has his phone number.

It's slid across to JC, a hopeful look that she'll Get It, rather than thinking he's hitting on her. "Contact info."

"Oh, you do your own comics? That's cool." Cameron's dark eyes flick down again at the page in the sketchpad, once more giving the parchment an examination. "Do you self-publish or..." She shakes her head, rolling her eyes upwards towards the ceiling a bit, as if trying to shake loose a particular word she is searching for. "Web-comic? Something like that?"

She still hasn't quite caught on to the two-words-at-a-time speaking pattern yet. So far she just thinks the man is quiet as Hell. Which seems to be working out, because she is a babbler. Love of words, indeed.

A thin, tight-lipped smile spreads widely across her lips, just touching her eyes as she ducks her head downwards and half-snorts, half-chuckles at the expression she gets, with the fingers crossing and all. "Yeah, let's not dwell on that little slice of paradise too much. Paying bills before pride. At least I don't have to be a dancer. Yet."

"Oh, picture. Right, let's see..." Into the hip pocket of her overalls she goes, leaning to the side a bite and pulling out her phone. It is neither fancy, nor new, but it is Smart. Distinctly off-brand. By the time she's firing up her camera, he's sliding his own over towards her. "Right. Okay. Mm." She holds her phone above his and hits a button, the click sound of the camera app following. "Got it. Okay, let's see..."

Cameron flips through her pictures, a rolodex of her and other people doing things in various places that range from stupid to silly, before landing on one. It features a dark-haired punk/borderline-goth with a too-huge smile amidst three bandmates, one female, two male, all about the same age, looking fairly fresh for college. She makes a few taps, puts in the number, and hits 'send'.

A moment later Dylan's phone lights up with an alert that he has a text message. "That's Madison in the middle, she's the friend. The others... Eh. I'm gonna get a coffee?" She hooks a thumb over her shoulder towards the counter, as if asking him the question.

"Just starting," Dylan coos out in explination, his head shaking a bit to show he hasn't actually gotten that far down the process. "New idea." as far as those particular sketches go. It's when she talks about being a dancer that he not-so-helpfully points out, "Good tips!"

When she takes a picture of his phone, his eyes just blink a few times, though her method of storing numbers isn't commented on beyond a broad, amused smile. His good hand snakes back out to pluck up his phone, dragging it over to his side to leave on the table while she starts to flip through and find what they are looking for. "Vlogger?" He inquiries while she's busy, his own curiosity getting the best of him while he waits.

He also drags those sketchpads back, the one with those weird characters tucked back away, while his fairy tale book is flipped to a new page. It isn't a sketch he starts, but just jotting down notes and the name of the one she gives him, along with a few of the other tidbits that have been shared. "Are you?" He asks at first when that question comes out from her, those big blue eyes just staring at her.

Wait. Is she asking him to get one. Or is she offering him one. His gaze widens even further in a look of sheer panic of someone who can't ask the question because it doesn't fit down into two words. One can see the panic set in momentarily on those features, but gallantry wins out on this day. He starts to stand, intending to head up towards the counter. "One coffee." He states, all to memorize her order.

"Yeah. Good tips, low self-esteem." Cameron smirks and looks away. "I don't think anyone in this town needs me up on a stage. I'm all knees and elbows, and pretty sure I don't have the right stuff."

"Vlogger." She confirms with a sad, sad smile of 'Pity me for my life's choices' written across her face, brow all scrunched up sorrowfully and and pulling down on the corners of her mouth until it forms an inverted u shape. "I would say it pays the bills, but it really doesn't. My subscribers could all fit in this cozy little place. But I feel like it's important. I have to do it. Or no one will. No one else on air will tell the truth. At least, not around here."

"Um..." Oh, she can see the panic. She can see it set in the way his head swans back a little and his eyes go wide. How they dart around, looking for some kind of exit or something. Like something just out of the field of his vision is going to give him the answer to some unseen dilemma. Cameron just looks confused, kind of partially-turning her head away without taking her eyes off him. Then she sort of starts glancing around, looking for what might make Dylan so upset and ready to flee.

Then he stands up and confirms his intent. Immediately the brunette's shaking her head, forming an 'o' with her mouth before she speaks up, reaching into one of the chest pockets of her overalls. "Oh. Oh, no no no. I was- You don't have to- I have money." She pulls out a few crumpled one-dollar-bills and a crapload of assorted change, which scatter and spread out noisily as she sets them on the table. "I just- How much is...?" She glances at the menu, picking up all the bills and then, holding a hand to the side of the table, scrapes off a bunch of coins into her palms. She holds it out for Dylan to take, praying it's enough to buy something.

"Um, one mocha latte?"

Dylan is standing right next to the table with Cameron, and between them? Is a sketchpad that they apparently had been looking at. Right now, however, it seems like they are more putting on a sketch comedy show, given the bewildered look the artist has on his features as Cameron starts pulling out all sorts of change from her pockets like he just might be mugging her for her lunch money. "Send me?" He asks with curiosity about her vlog, hoping she'll send something he can access over his phone.

He's also has his left arm in a sling, and his head? Well, it is sporting some bruises and stitching on the scalp. But it's the one armed thing that makes getting the change dumped into his one good hand a juggling act as she hands it over to him. "Mocha latte." He confirms with a baited breath. Thank god she ordered something with two words, instead of a frapuchino with two pumps of caramel and omg no whip and non fat milk.

And so it is that he trudges over like a good soldier to the counter, slapping down all of that change and those two crumpled bills, placing the order.

"Send? Send, um- Oh! Right, the vlog. Yeah, yeah, yeah, let me just..."

Cameron turns back to face the table, lifting her phone and starting to tap away a mile a minute with those skinny thumbs of hers. She's one of those pros that can text at sixty words a minute or somethhing. As Dylan walks away to get her order, she kind of makes a face like she stepped in dog crap while watching him go out of the corner of her eye. Real nice work, Cam. Send the injured guy after coffee because you can't not end a sentence without an upward inflection!

"Mm, let's see... website... facebook... Oh! Youtube. Duh." The vlogger mutters to herself as she fills a text message with hyperlinks. "Twitter, Discord... Annnnd sent!" The press of a button makes Dylan's phone light up with another ping as he gets a second message.

And oh boy. Those links take him down a dark, daaaaaaark road. It's a veritable smorgasboard of conspiracies ranging from dinosaurs building the pyramids and living in the Garden of Eden, to lessons on Wiccanology, to how real Witchcraft is and how it's being covered up by an oppressive government. There's even quite a bit about how strange Gray Harbor is, the weirdness that goes on here, the creepiness, how things just 'happen'. All of it's right there on the craziness of her website HiddenContent.com.

One has only to look at the responses on Twitter to see why all of her YouTube comments are disabled. The public does not take kindly to the psychotic young woman trying to warn them that Bigfoot is real and also there are ghosts in Gray Harbor that will try to eat your face.

Setting her phone down, Cameron waits patiently, and guiltily, for her coffee.

Most days, getting home after work is easy enough. But then there are some where you need something to make sure you can go there without problems. Having finished his shift at work, Rick has decided he'd need some of that Espresso that the coffee shop is named after. Stepping in, he doesn't look around before heading to the counter to order himself a double. Seems like someone really needs his caffeine.

The poor barista is counting up all that change, unwrinkling those two dollar bills, all to have Dylan come up nine cents short. And the look he's flashed when he pulls out a five dollar bill, the only thing he has, after all that fuss with the pennies, quarters, and dimes? It speaks volumes. That change is pocketed, and that same outright sheepish look is cast towards Rick who now has to deal with Annoyed Barista as the artist shuffles out of line.

The buzz of his phone has his head turning, picking up a bit, but those particular nightmares will come later when he has time to follow those links. With the order up, he grabs the cup and shuffles back over, giving Cameron a big, beaming smile as he puts down her coffee. "Mocha latte," He confirms, just to make sure there isn't anything wrong with it. From here?" With a thud, he finds his seat once more, a small oomph coming from him as he adjusts his left arm to get comfortable.

No scrubs today for Abby. She's in perfectly civilian clothes, jeans and comfy sneakers and a red gingham shirt, with a big pale blue canvas bag strapped across her chest and hanging off her hip. It has a cat embroidered on it and seems a little heavy and overstuffed. She makes a faint huffing sound of protest as she maneuvers herself inside the coffee shop and looks around.

There's a ready smile, of course, as she heads for the counter, but on the way there she pauses, spotting Dylan. She raises a hand for a quick wave and her smile brightens, but a small crease of concern sets on her brow. "Hello." She offers Cameron a small smile too, but her focus is clearly on the artist type, gaze going to his injuries. "You're looking much better out and about! How are you feeling?"

The door chimes again, drawing Cameron's eyes to it, and the man that breezes through it. She doesn't know Rick, at least not from sight. But she can proooooobably guess what he does by his bearing, if nothing else. People who aren't civilians just carry themselves differently. Something in the tilt of their chin and pep in their step. That wierd, shoulders-back way of standing.

Militar-esque?

Poor Dylan over there has to deal with the Wiccan's bad mathing skills, but what's to be done? She's already busy picking up the change she hadn't just given to him for the coffee up off the counter. Each unit of currency is scooped into her hand, and deposited back into the chest pocket of her overalls. Isn't that where all people keep their money? Sure it is. Don't judge, Muggles.

As he returns, setting the coffee down, Cameron grabs it, flashing the best smile of contrition she can. It's an unusual expression, caught somewhere between a 'thank you' smile and an 'I'm sorry' grimace.

"Yeah, actually. Grew up here. Went to Ted. Class of 2013, woohoo. Tried to move away, thought I was gonna be a reeeeeal big thing." She raises her eyebrows in a quick bob to show what she thinks of those ideas. "Follow the dream, be the next Tony Hawk. Turns out the world only needs one Tony Hawk, and crappy skaters are about as common as lead singers looking for a band. So... Life happened. Wound up moving back here. At least didn't hae to move back in with my folks. So. There's that?"

Then Abby happens. The brunette with the braided pigtails, currently in the middle of a sip, tugs the cup away from her lips and wipes her mouth with a finger in her haste to not be rude. "Um. Hi." She looks at the artist. "Is this your-" Then back at Abby, holding out a hand towards the other woman. "I'm Cameron. Cam. Latest client of the ar-teest."

Rick doesn't seem to mind facing the annoyed barista, offering a brief smile and some quiet words as he places his order. He has the correct cash counted out and headed over, before he takes a few steps to the side to make way for the next in line. "Busy day, hmmm?" he remarks, rather quietly.

The big, huge smile that Dylan flashes towards Abby is like the look the fox in the hen house might give to the farmer, so comedical it is. Even his eye are big around, and his free hand lifts, giving a waggle towards the nurse. "Like new?" Now it's his turn to end something in an inflection that he really shouldn't have, before his voice lowers to a conspiratorial whisper to the off duty nurse, one that is still loud enough to be easily overheard. "Needed Barbeque." As if that would explain it all.

"Class 2016," Dylan chimes in after Cameron has concluded her telling of the road to failed skatedom, though to be fair, he seems intrigued by it all. "Still skate?" Laughter comes from him at the last of her words, a somber, serious nod given, like in that alone? She's won the lottery. He just stares at the woman for a few long moments when that sentence she starts goes unfinished, trying to piece together just what she'd been going to say. Introductions are in order! "Nurse Abby," He offers up helpfully as he motions to her, and then he points to Cameron. "Vlogger." It's even a touch hopeful, as if this might distract her with something else to inquire about. His gaze shifts, watching Rick for a moment to see how he gets along with the barista, before a reassured sigh escapes from him when no after effect takes place.

"Hmm." Abby gives Dylan a small suspicious look, her scowl deepening for a few seconds. It fades into a quiet smile and barely a hint of admonishment. "You really should rest," she says in a quiet voice, but doesn't push further than that. "Barbecue would be pretty nice! Double chocolate, especially." She sighs, a little more dramatic than seems warranted. Then she turns her cheery attention to Cameron, and her free hand comes up to offer a quick wave. "Nice to meet you! I'm - well..." She gestures to Dylan once he provides an introduction. "Oooh, new client? Isn't his work great?"

"Excuse me, though," Abby points towards the counter and hurries in that direction. The line is short, and she hits the counter just a moment later. The barista gets a smile and a "Hi!" And so does Rick. "Oh, hi again!" And then she orders a drink. It has coffee in it, somewhere under all the extras.

Rick shows off his impressive ability to have the right amount of Federal Reserve Notes on hand to get the job done as Cameron shoots her gaze past Abby and towards the male. "Busy? Busy enough to waste the day away in an off-brand Starbucks, I suppose."

The skinny brunette nods a bit with a small smile of acknowledgement just barely ghosting her lips as she folds in on herself, picking her legs up to place her shins against the table. The mocha latte is cradled in both hands between her knees and her face, in that sitting position only the ridiculously-skinny people can pull off. She shakes her head when asked about skating.

"Now? No. God, no. Not in a long while. I mean... I guess it's like riding a bike, but I'd probably just hurt myself on a half pipe or rail these days. ...Not that I didn't back then. If you aren't losing half your skin when learning to skate, you aren't learning to skate. Said... no one ever." Then she's looking back at Abby, flashing her a big smile, full of teeth and enthusiasm that isn't completely faked. "Yeah, nice to meet you. His stuff's great. Way better than what we've been using so far."

With Abby rushing to the counter, Cameron glances at the woman's retreating backside, before lowering her voice and addressing Dylan. "Hey, um... so this is weird, but I'm Wiccan?" Because that's slightly less weird than proclaiming herself a witch. "I know some, mmm... let's call it 'holistic healing'? If, y'know, I think I could-" She lifts a hand to indicate his head and then his sling-bound arm. "-All that. Just throwing it out there."

"Hi," Rick offers to Abby, offering her a smnile. "I hope everything's well," he offers. It's not long after that he gets his coffee, and he offers another smile of thanks to the barista, before he nods a bit at Cameron's words. "At least you get coffee here, right?" It''s offered rather lightly as he looks between the others present.

There is just a touch of a blush that graces Dylan's features as the pair talks about his work, a bashful smile flashed to the pair of them as he lets out a meek, "Thanks." That expression morphs into one of serious delight as Abby mentions double chocolate, his head dipping enthusiastically into a nod of greeting, followed by a promise of, "Will rest." It's sincere enough that one might even think he'll go take a nap after he's done!

Oh no. It's another inflection that Cameron put at the end of her proclomation of what's weird. "You are?" Thankfully, it's not coffeegate all over again, for this time his brow furrows up into a perplexed look, instead questioning it all. "That's weird?" Blink. Blink blink. And as she goes on, she's given a dubious look as if she's trying to sell him into a pyramid scheme. Still, his voice is kept lower. "Holistic." And then his mouth forms an ever so silent word that only she can see, thankfully, given that there is an off duty cop right over there chatting up the nurse who'd checked in on him. 'WEED?' comes the silent inquisition of these 'medications' that Cam is pushing.

"No skating," He concludes in a more normal, conversational tone, a sluff back into his chair. "Hobbies?" But even still, he's reaching down, digging through his messenger bag to pull yet a different sketchpad out, prepared for any situation it'd seem.

Abby returns Rick's smile, leaning against the counter to wait for her coffee-based beverage. After a moment's hesitation (two moments at most), she adds, "And a brownie." Then she glances over. "Everything's fine! At least now that I'm off work, relaxing a little. It's been kind of crazy lately, but I suppose it's even worse for you, with all the... murders." The last word is whispered.

She eases the bag off her shoulder after a second, setting it down on the floor by her feet with a sigh of relief. Considerably freer, she twists and looks around the coffeeshop again. Dylan gets another quiet look, concern giving way to a cursory clinical examination. He's not falling over or bleeding or exhibiting any other obvious signs, so she leaves him be. For now.

"Hey, very true!" Cameron offers with a short-lived laugh to Rich, holding up her coffee cup briefly to indicate that she did, indeed, get her coffee here. Not the coffee she came in with, but the coffee she deserved. "So I guess I can't complain that it was a total loss."

It is the curse of Cameron to occasionally make things that should be statements sound like questions. Perhaps she spent too much time in the valley, and picked up some nasty speaking habits. Maybe it was always a trait. "Well, most people think it's weird. Most people don't even think it's a real religion." She can almost SEE the gears turn in the man's head as he slowly comes to his conclusion. She's tilting her head forward a bit expectantly, eyebrows raised, starting to nod-

She lowers her eyebows and swans her neck back a bit. "What? No. Not weed!" She has no compunctions about saying it out loud. "I mean that'd probably help with the pain? But no, I mean... fix this. It's. Y'know. A ritual. I can do. Sometimes it helps." She can already see she's sprouting crazy seeds in everyone's brains. All credibility being flushed down a drain only she can see. Yes, crazy witchcraft girl strikes again. Should have shut up. "Like a spell." Because that'll help.

"Hobbies? Right." She goes with the abrupt subject change before she sounds too much like a snake oil salesman. "Poetry, mostly. I really like slams. Music. I love going to concerts. Reading. I like to read." About conspiracies and the Illuminati-type stuff. No need to advertise that. "Vlogging, of course. I love making videos. And..." She looks away, mumbling a bit as she brings her coffee to her lips. "...witchcraft."

Given how espresso is something you can down fast, it doesn't take long before Rick has emptiesd his cup, and he starts heading towards the door. "Good. I think I should enjoy some of the off-duty time and go home and rest," he offers to Abby, before he smiles to the others too. "Enjoy your day," he offers, before slipping out.

Dylan certainly is on the mend, even if he has a long way to go. He must also have eyes in the side of his head, feeling that examination on him. His head cranes about, and it's another big, cheesy smile that he flashes her in an attempt to reassure, before he offers up, "Checked tomorrow." as a promise that he'll get a followup on things.

But then Cameron is speaking. It all starts ncie enough, and he seems all too content to agree that Wiccan isn't weird before things go off the deep end. It creates quite the conundrum in Dylan's face as his mind is squarely split into two sides. His right side keeps on smiling, the eyebrow bunched up a bit to consider the implications and means. His left side, on the other hand, has it's corner tucked down into a frown. That brow is angled up sharply, and the logical side of his mind is clearly wondering if he can secretly dial for help. "Oh. Neat." Comes the slow, inevitable conclusion, like she just told him she found the most awesome t-shirt ever.

A big swallow comes as one of the sane people begin to leave, but he doesn't dare take his eyes off of Cameron. "Appreciate offer," He begins. Hobbies? He's so far beyond that now. He's trying to figure out how to deal with this. Humoring her clearly must be the best way, right? "It hurt?" He finally creaks out in curiosity about this whole ritual thing, trying to show he isn't fully closed minded about it.

"I didn't say anything," Abby replies to Dylan's promise with a small shrug and her most guilt-free face, holding up her hands. One stays up, waving to Rick as he goes. Only then does she get her own considerably larger drink. And her brownie. Now that she has supplies for the journey, she bends down to retrieve her bag again, and lugs everything over towards the tables.

"As long as it's nothing too stressful or tiring, you should be fine! As long as you're improving," she adds as she moves close. Okay, she can't quite keep quiet. But the corner of her mouth is twitching, as if she finds this entire nagging scenario amusing. It doesn't seem like she's caught the entire conversation, just enough to give Cameron another curious look in passing. While she's not looking.

'Oh. Neat.'

Yep. Cameron just kind of sinks a little lower in her chair, puckering up her lips and twisting them to the sides a little, figuring she's done quite enough talking for today. No need to continue. Just keep her trap shut and move quite along by this. Maybe she can get out of it with people only thinking she kind of weird and eccentric instead of batshit crazy.

But no. That is not the Cam Way.

Even as the man stares at her like she just helpfully offered to mutilate and sell his organs on the black market, the brunette is trying to look at Abby as if she's become the Most Interesting Woman In The World. Because then she doesn't have to face the Judgement Stare being beamed at her from across the table, those big, soulful eyes telling her she needs to be strapped down, locked up, and lobotomized.

"What?" Her head snaps back. "No. No, of course not. Cures shouldn't hurt." Cameron shakes her head with an expression that says everyone knows this. She hooks a thumb in Abby's direction as the woman heads over and claims her own spot near them. "Like she said, the power of positive thinking can't hurt, at least." As if the woman had just agreed with her and had any idea what she'd just said.

The dark-haired apparent sorceress reaches into the neckline of her sweater with one hand, producing a necklace that she carefully and strategically pulls off overhead with tangling her braids too bad. It's a piece of black string threaded through a circular white stone. It doesn't look very magical at all. "You just wear this for a bit and... voila!" There's a bit more to it, but he's already freaked out enough.

A small but playful hmph comes from Dylan when Abby says she didn't say anything, and his smile goes lopsided and appreciative when she begins to come over, all to lend some sanity to this conversation. Of course that expression falters when she seems to be giving explicit permission to partake in this ritual, his brow furrowing as he looks slowly from one to the other. "Really?"

It's only when Cameron pulls out that necklace that his gaze sharpens into a whole different look of suspicion, like the pair of them are trying to lure him into a trap of a girly party where before he knows it, his finger nails are painted and he's talking about his feelings. Clearly they don't know who they are bargaining with, a man who has no problems with a good mani-pedi and just can't talk at all, emotions or not. "Oh. Okay,"

With the nurses blessing, he reaches out to snag that necklace, as if /he/ is the one that now has the upper hand on the both of them, because clearly they wouldn't be expecting such ready agreement! "My color," He coos out as he starts to try and put it on, which being just one armed at the moment? Is a rather hilarious sight of head bobbing and weave, hands pulling and rolling around his head until down the necklace goes, with the only casualty being his hair, which is now far more mussed up.

Abby gives Dylan another shrug small shrug, still standing there. She takes a sip thinks and adds with an easy, reassuring smile. "As long as you're not avoiding actual medical treatment and it doesn't involve mystery injections that turn out to be hot sauce and bleach, I don't see the harm, I guess..." The way she says it, it does sound more like she's indulging Cameron and the notion, not that she actually expects this to work.

The nurse wanders to the next table over, close enough to keep an eye on the proceedings. She plops her bag down, then plops herself into a chair, and finally digs into her brownie while she watches, sharing a small amiable smile with Cameron. "I like the rock." She points a finger at the white stone, then leans in to comment for Dylan's benefit. "I'm not a geologist, but that doesn't look radioactive, so you should be okay!"

"Radioactive rocks don't actually glow, do they? That's just in movies and comics, I guess. So that could actually be super dangerous." She takes another sip of coffee. "I'm sure it's fine!"

Cameron watches the spectacle unfold with the increasing suspicion that she's going to make a total fool out of herself. But, well, not the first time. Live life or die trying. That's what the crazy ass people she's always hanging around try to say.

She watches Dylan struggling with the amulet for a long moment, slowly lifting her arms and dropping her feet to the floor. She begins to sit forward and half-stand up, as if she's going to reach to try and help him, right as the thing slips on. So instead, she just kind of lets her arms drop, not looking silly at all. "Right okay, this is... Just sit still and close your eyes. Try to focus on your arm, okay?"

The overall-wearing wizard rises from her seat and kind of scoots around the table, tippy-toe-ing past a few other customer's chairs she has to squeeze past until she can stand behind Dylan. "Don't worry, Abby." She asides with what she hopes is confident reassurance to the woman. "I don't have any needles on me today." Her hands come to rest lightly against the bicep of his injured arm, the other against the opposite side of his neck. At least she has soft hands. Helps make up for the creep factor.

"If it's radioactive, I have ALL the cancer by now."

Said weirdo creep vibe is upped when she leans down to place her lips against his hair. It's a spell called The Mother's Kiss, shut up, okay!? The hairs on the back of almost everyone in the shop stand on end, and more than one person turns a weird look on the brunette. She flushes and tries to look nonchalant as she stands back up straight. "Um, ah... how's that feel?"

"Hot bleach?" This gets a rather worried look from Dylan that anyone would actually do that, and now he's looking down a touch more dubiously at that necklace that dangles on top of his shirt. Radioactive?! No, Abby Isn't Helping, his features contorting, lower lip taken in against his teeth, and up his good hand lifts to fan himself.

His eyes finally begin to close to do as she says, right up and until the point that Cameron says she'd have all the cancer by now. Maybe brain tumors explains everything! And that causes one eye to peek up, half expecting to see lumps on her head. He's tense when her hands touch him, but he soldiers on like a good trooper. Surely Abby can see his features scrunch all up when she leans down to give a kiss into his hair, and that is followed up by Cameron's question.

"The... kiss...?" He inquiries slowly, wondering if this was all now just a ploy to feel up his hair. And bicep. And neck. How does one even respond to that?! A big gulp is given, and that's when it strikes him. He's moving his left arm, drawing it in closer towards himself in a defensive motion, and it doesn't hurt. Those eyes blink open, peering quizically at Abby, and then down to his arm. Back and fourth it begins to rock. "Uhh..." It's dubious, but truthful. "Good."

"I'm sure it's harmless," Abby insists with a nod in Dylan's direction, but this time her voice softens, trading playfulness for quietly reassuring warmth. Then she has another bite of brownie. She crooks her nose slightly and angles an eyebrow at a sharp upwards tilt while she takes in the actual ritual, staring at Cameron. "That's good to know! I actually do have some needles in the bag. Sewing needles." She nudges the bag with her foot.

When the spell gets to the kiss part, she blinks and tilts her head, but manages to keep her face blank. Not weirded out. At least for a moment. Then she squirms in her seat, swallows, and hides herself behind the coffee cup. Her eyes fix on Dylan, suddenly very, very attentive.

Abby blinks as he starts moving his arm, meeting his glance with a look of mild surprise. That gives way to discomfort, bafflement, and finally a kind of polite, rehearsed neutrality. "You probably shouldn't move it too much, Dylan. Just in case. Until your doctor looks at it."

"Um... no. The- The arm." Cameron replies after a moment, swanning her head back and BLINKING in surprise. "The kiss was just a weird necessity." At least she's acknowledging that it's completely weird for a twenty-something woman to be boo-boo kissing a twenty-something man to make his ouchies go away. But such is the Wiccalife!

As Dylan slowly begins to experiment with his arm, the dark-haired young woman takes her hands off of him and slides off to the side. She lifts her hands, Spirit Fingering all ten digits with a grin. "Magic hands!" She quietly slinks back to her seat so the people around them will quit staring at her. Once more, she wraps herself around her coffee cup.

"Um. That is an adorable cat on your bag, by the way." She asides to Abby, look at the thing the woman brought in with her. Because DISTRACTION!

Then she returns her gaze slowly to Dylan. "I just... need the necklace back. I can't lose that."

Dylan's features seem to flash through emotions quicker than they can truly settle on any one of them, and he just stares back at Abby for a long moment before quickly stopping that movement of his arm. "Right. Doctor." Another big gulp comes, as if his mouth was now just too horribly dry to figure out what to do. And then he springs into action.

His hand is grabbing the one sketchbook still out and STUFFING it into his bag, "Look, time!" The excuses begin to roll out whenever he can happen to think of one. "Must rest!" Yes. Someone told him that. Abby did! He's quickly getting up to his feet, that bag drawn up by it's strap to be tossed over his good shoulder - well, his good shoulder that wasn't just magically healed by a witch - "Phone!" No. It isn't buzzing. He grabs his and shoves it back in his pocket, rather than even pretending to answer it.

It's a good thing she mentions her necklace, because he probably would have just darted out of the place with the radiation stone still slung around his neck. Up and over it comes, nearly strangling himself for a moment in the process before tossing it towards Cameron. "Thanks coffee!" He calls out even as he's speed walking to the door, completely oblivious to the fact that no, she DIDN'T buy him that cup of coffee. "GOOD VLOGGING!" His voice picks up, because thats a totally normally farewell, and then the ding of the door comes as he shoves his way through, heading off at a good clip past the windows and down the street.

Abby is still not sure how to react. It's obvious she's not entirely at ease with what apparently happened, but she steels herself for it, biting a brownie and giving herself a moment to think. The look she gives Dylan as he starts to get up shows concern. Without knowing her own response, Abby can't really help Dylan deal with it, so she falls back on supportive friendliness. "Well, rest is good. Just don't miss your doctor's appointment! And don't overexert yourself," she adds, sketching a gesture towards the injured arm. Formerly injured arm.

"Take care!" Abby raises her voice as he suddenly heads off, and settles back into her seat, mulling over her coffee and noms in thought. She extends her quiet smile to Cameron, but can't quite wipe the small furrows off her brow. "Thank you. Isn't it?" She glances down at her bag with the cat on it, because that at least seems like a safe discussion topic.

Yep. Another one freaked out. Well, that's bound to happen when you're a walking Harry Potter character. Maybe she was a little too desperate to get someone, anyone, to actually believe her. Only time would tell if pitchforks and pyres were in her future. As far as ways to be ended go, getting burned at the stake is pretty damned bad.

Cameron just kind bites her lower lip and watches the guy get up and being shoving his things away with far more alacrity than he should be able to manage it. It would be hilarious. If she hadn't just been the one to freak his whole world out. She takes comfort that he's at least probably like all the others and will rationalize away an explanation for everything that just happened.

She doesn't so much manage to catch the necklace that's tossed to her, as it just so happens to land on her knee and she manages to slap a hand on it before it falls. He's out the door, screaming at her about vlogging before she's even had a chance to set down her coffee, pick it up, and look up again. He's already hurrying past the window.

"...Nice meeting you?" She says to the empty space that used to have a Dylan in it.

So now she is left with Abby, and as her eyes slowly slide over to the nurse, she tries to think of how she can freak this one out, too. Lighting things on fire is probably not a good idea. Nor is making the potted plants dance. Best to just get out while she can.

"It is. Next time, you should show me some pictures of your cats." The brunette says affably as she unfolds her legs and stands up. "I think I've caught enough attention for one day, and I still have to pick up food and head home. It was nice meeting you, Abby."

Cameron tries to smile, but it mostly comes off as 'I'm so sorry' instead of anything happy and enthusiastic. "Try not to run into weirdos out there."

Cameron, with her new coffee in hand, pushes open the door and strolls her overalls-wearing ass out of them before anyone can ask her too many more weird questions with even more bizarre answers.