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Brain-cerpts
Jul. 3rd, 2001 12:32 amI should be sleeping. I should at least be finishing folding my laundry and preparing for bed. Alas, the muse has been knocking on my head for a week or two at least, and so...
(I'll put this in the TeaRoom tomorrow, or whenever, I suppose.)
Tea. Giles looked up at the menu of tea choices, splayed out across a rather lengthy wall in soothing green script, and marveled. Only Americans would go to this length to procure so many different varieties and blends of teas, tisanes and other infusions that didn't quite (not containing a member of camellia) count as tea. He peered closer, not quite sure that all the choices were exactly terrestrial.
"The house afternoon tea is very tasty, and their scones are excellent." Giles glanced over his shoulder at the customer behind him. Taller, the bearded man in monkish robes had leaned down to impart his words of advice. Giles nodded, and marked several other varieties mentally for purchase to take home with him.
The barista, a girl of sunny disposition and blonde hair streaked liberally with green, took their orders and advised them on a choice of seating. "It's stopped raining, so the upper deck should still be clear. We'll bring up your tea when it's brewed. Did you want marmalade or jam with your scones?"
A quick glance at the crowded, tea room sent both men upstairs to promised solitude. Giles noted the tall man nod back to a youth who waved at him from the middle of a group of equally young and fit youngsters. Good looking and fitter than men in their sunset years. he scoffed to himself, a now familiar inner mantra.
The upper deck was a glassed-in enclosure, with a view of surrounding roof tiles, still glistening in the rain, and a further view of the city in its green hills, and the surrounding bays, lakes and mountains. The clouds were clearing under an onslaught of afternoon sun, and the entire vista was streaked with mist and lancing sunbeams.
The taller man swept back his encumbering robe, revealing tan inner tunics, and sat at the table with the best view. His sweep and the accompanying soft smile seemed to encompass an invitation, and Giles sat opposite, though without the accompanying flair. "Youth is for the young to spend until all they have left is experience."
Giles resettled his glasses on his nose, the grey hair liberally threaded through his companion's beard and long hair quite as plain as his own worn years. So he'd notices Giles noticing his youthful companion. "And to make the rest of us feel tired?"
A broad hand tilted as if to shrug. "Perhaps not on purpose." He extended his hand. "I am Qui-Gon Jinn."
"Rupert Giles. That's... not exactly a common American name."
"I'm not exactly American. But then, the Tea Room has access to more than just American clientele... from any dimension."
"The, ah... non-human selections did give me a bit of a pause."
Qui-Gon nodded, amusement pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Some require an acquired taste. Others, such as the Dyson...Ah."
Their barista appeared on the stairs, her empty hands explained by the rumbling of a dumbwaiter to one side. Their teapots, safely ensconced in bright tea cozies, were served up with an array of steaming scones, cream, jam, marmalade, honey and sugar. She gave them a cheery little wave and bounced down the stairs again.
(More later, I think)
The black motorcycle pulled up under the overhang in a splatter of half-formed mud and the threat of further deluge. The parking for the place he was headed was a long strip of asphalt under an old corrugated roof, liberally festooned with vines and brambles. The ivy had grown from the edge of the hillside against which the roof was propped, and was starting to dangle streamers of green over the other side.
Wesley stowed his helmet and gloves, and peered through the vines and the streamers of water that were just now beginning to stream off the roof, accompanied by the thunder of rain on iron. The Tea Room across the road was well lit, sunny contentment spilling through the large windows, over the dark road through the darkness, and into the little parking nook. The skies had decided to open up at that moment, and the rain changed from a light patter of sprinkles to a heavy deluge whose roar upon the roof was building in intensity.
Glancing around, however, Wesley saw a set of stairs leading down, and a sign that promised both the Emerald City Tea Room and 'The Den', whatever that was. He saved a backward glance for his bike, and an admiring one for the one next to it, and headed down.
(Again, more later. These scenes have been rotting in my brain for a while now.)
(I'll put this in the TeaRoom tomorrow, or whenever, I suppose.)
Tea. Giles looked up at the menu of tea choices, splayed out across a rather lengthy wall in soothing green script, and marveled. Only Americans would go to this length to procure so many different varieties and blends of teas, tisanes and other infusions that didn't quite (not containing a member of camellia) count as tea. He peered closer, not quite sure that all the choices were exactly terrestrial.
"The house afternoon tea is very tasty, and their scones are excellent." Giles glanced over his shoulder at the customer behind him. Taller, the bearded man in monkish robes had leaned down to impart his words of advice. Giles nodded, and marked several other varieties mentally for purchase to take home with him.
The barista, a girl of sunny disposition and blonde hair streaked liberally with green, took their orders and advised them on a choice of seating. "It's stopped raining, so the upper deck should still be clear. We'll bring up your tea when it's brewed. Did you want marmalade or jam with your scones?"
A quick glance at the crowded, tea room sent both men upstairs to promised solitude. Giles noted the tall man nod back to a youth who waved at him from the middle of a group of equally young and fit youngsters. Good looking and fitter than men in their sunset years. he scoffed to himself, a now familiar inner mantra.
The upper deck was a glassed-in enclosure, with a view of surrounding roof tiles, still glistening in the rain, and a further view of the city in its green hills, and the surrounding bays, lakes and mountains. The clouds were clearing under an onslaught of afternoon sun, and the entire vista was streaked with mist and lancing sunbeams.
The taller man swept back his encumbering robe, revealing tan inner tunics, and sat at the table with the best view. His sweep and the accompanying soft smile seemed to encompass an invitation, and Giles sat opposite, though without the accompanying flair. "Youth is for the young to spend until all they have left is experience."
Giles resettled his glasses on his nose, the grey hair liberally threaded through his companion's beard and long hair quite as plain as his own worn years. So he'd notices Giles noticing his youthful companion. "And to make the rest of us feel tired?"
A broad hand tilted as if to shrug. "Perhaps not on purpose." He extended his hand. "I am Qui-Gon Jinn."
"Rupert Giles. That's... not exactly a common American name."
"I'm not exactly American. But then, the Tea Room has access to more than just American clientele... from any dimension."
"The, ah... non-human selections did give me a bit of a pause."
Qui-Gon nodded, amusement pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Some require an acquired taste. Others, such as the Dyson...Ah."
Their barista appeared on the stairs, her empty hands explained by the rumbling of a dumbwaiter to one side. Their teapots, safely ensconced in bright tea cozies, were served up with an array of steaming scones, cream, jam, marmalade, honey and sugar. She gave them a cheery little wave and bounced down the stairs again.
(More later, I think)
The black motorcycle pulled up under the overhang in a splatter of half-formed mud and the threat of further deluge. The parking for the place he was headed was a long strip of asphalt under an old corrugated roof, liberally festooned with vines and brambles. The ivy had grown from the edge of the hillside against which the roof was propped, and was starting to dangle streamers of green over the other side.
Wesley stowed his helmet and gloves, and peered through the vines and the streamers of water that were just now beginning to stream off the roof, accompanied by the thunder of rain on iron. The Tea Room across the road was well lit, sunny contentment spilling through the large windows, over the dark road through the darkness, and into the little parking nook. The skies had decided to open up at that moment, and the rain changed from a light patter of sprinkles to a heavy deluge whose roar upon the roof was building in intensity.
Glancing around, however, Wesley saw a set of stairs leading down, and a sign that promised both the Emerald City Tea Room and 'The Den', whatever that was. He saved a backward glance for his bike, and an admiring one for the one next to it, and headed down.
(Again, more later. These scenes have been rotting in my brain for a while now.)
