Dinner and a Book [open]

[fairest]

Tucked away into the corner of the busy cafe, Jon turned a page in his book. He paused only briefly to take a bite out of the salad he had ordered and to push his rectangular glasses further up the slim bridge of his nose.

Chewing contentedly on the crisp lettuce that crunched in his mouth, Jon flipped yet another page in his book. Had he been a different kind of person, he would have laughed at the idea that he personally so abhorred the taste of any and all meat while his animal self, a cheetah, thrived on it.

The dull dink of a fork hitting a ceramic plate drew him out of his daze. Electric blue eyes shifted from the text on the page to the plate sitting in front of him. To his dismay, he had finished off the entire salad except for one final cherry tomato.

With an almost wistful sigh, Jon pushed his fork through the juicy center of the fruit before popping it into his mouth. He chewed it, trying to savor it more than he had his previous bites. Finally, he swallowed and pushed the empty plate away with the fork on it.

Despite him having no intention of ordering another meal, Jonathon decided that it was too nice of a day to spend inside and he had nowhere else he needed to be at the moment. With that thought in mind, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one. Luckily he wasn’t the only one smoking on the balcony.

Puffing contentedly away on the cancer stick, Jon pushed his glasses further up his nose once more and returned to his book eagerly.

(Short, I'm sorry. Little rusty. )

[Augustus is a SWOObat]

He didn't care for scenery. Ichabod was only on the balcony for the sole reason of airing out. Some mechanic had made the rookie mistake of not paying attention to what he was doing. He set half a Honda on fire, and filled the garage with smoke. Iggy switched out his clothes, and took 4 showers, but he still reeked of smoke. Ichabod didn't own a watch, not many blind men did, but that didn't stop him from wondering what time it was. He debated about asking someone, but his pride wouldn't allow it. So Iggy sat still as a statue wondering how long he had been here, and at what time would the garage reopen so he could get back to work.

He didn't eat, and didn't drink, because he simply didn't feel like it. They didn't have any food here he'd find edible. Ichabod was a fruit-muncher, and cafes didn't have much fruit. He crossed his arms and slumped in his chair. He "looked" up to the sky, and if he could see, he'd see silver clouds blocking out a dim yellow sun with only a few patches of blue peaking out from behind. But Iggy couldn't see. He used his lousy imagination to substitute for his invisible reality. A small smile found it's way to his lips. His imagination was so horrible. It looked like a child's drawing, ridiculously circular clouds and a yellow sun with shades and a toothy grin. His mood was arguably better, and his prominent, and seemingly permanent, grumpiness was slowly ebbing.

In fact, his mood had improved so much, he no longer felt it a weakness to ask for the time. He got up from his spot. The chair groaned quitely in protest. Iggy was searching for someone who was finished with their meal, so as not to disturb someone too much. He wasn't the polite type, he just hated the sound of food in someone's mouth and the scraping of a fork. He found one, practically the only one. Makes sense, i guess. People come to a cafe to eat. He "stared" at the non-eater and wondered why he wasn't doing what everyone else did. Weirdo. Iggy shrugged it off. It wasn't like he really cared. He sat down opposite of Non-eater, and clicked a few times. There wasn't enough noise in the cafe by itself. The vibrations were too weak for Ichabod to pick up on, and so he had to help them find their "voice". Now they sang for him. They told him that the cafe was partially empty and that activity was low, but his ears had already told him that. There were only a few murmers in the background. Mostly about the weather, and other kinds of small talk. There were two woman talking about the pains of child-birth, which made Ichabod ungrateful for his hearing. He leaned back in his new chair, trying to tune the vulgar women out. "You know what time it is?" Manners scolded Iggy for his rudeness, but he was so use to ignoring Manners that it had become second nature. He smelled the smoke coming from Non-eater's cigarrette and felt hungry for one of his own. He pulled out a single cigarrette from his pocket, and had to dig around for his lighter. He always lighted up oddly, though it was the only safe way for him to light up. He held the cigarrette out in front of him with one hand, and flicked the lighter to life with the other. He held them together for a few seconds before satisfied it was well lit. Iggy slipped it into his mouth, and smiled at it's familiar warmth. "By the way, My name is Ichabod Hallows, but you have to call me Iggy." He stuck out his hand before Non-eater could first. Iggy wasn't one for formalities, but he hated when people found out he was handicapped, and if Non-eater stuck out his hand, Ichabod might not be able to find it with grace. It wasn't like his blindness was very noticeable. Iggy hid it well, especially since he didn't wear sunglasses or carry a blind-stick, but certain people were too observant not to notice. His clicking was a major hint, the way he lit his cigarrette, the way he sometimes forgot to blink. Ichabod blinked just in case he had forgotten, and trained his sightless eyes onto Non-eaters face, keeping the charade up and active. Sometimes, it was just like a game, though there was nothing really fun about being blind.