Lark & Alice at the Cafe

Lark
Portree was not a horrible place, Certainly not the Capital City, that he'd grown accustomed too in his dreams, but then nothing could compare to the grand illusion of decadent and gilded prisons of the mind could they? Acclimation too humanity had not been difficult, the body was used to being a human, thus it did as it was intended too do. Despite this there were often moments of surprise and embarrassment to be had. His first time using the restroom in the Hospital had been a lucid experience. Imagine, a refined gentlemen standing over the toilet in child like excitement attempting to control the nozzle of his hose! There was also eating, which our Chevalier had finally gotten the point, you don't eat, you get sick. Thus he began to find he favored sweets of any kind. (Chocolates, and Hard Candies having become his favorite due to the wrappers, and memories of frogs and toads) Then, there was Alice. Oh sweet Alice his Papillion who had rushed to his side the moment he 'Surfaced' . She had been what the humans of this world had called a Godsent. She provided aid in every aspect of his new 'not so new' life here in the world. From helping him learn to use an Iphone, to showing him how to sign into a laptop and peruse the internet. (He also accidentally discovered porn to her dismay) Now, well he was a semi functioning member of society. The Lark, due to his time spent in a comatose state, attended regular visits to the therapists, he enjoyed hours rebuilding lost, and weakened muscles. Enjoyed, hours of torment at the hands of sadistic doctors who found his 'condition' to be of interest. Oh how they poked and prodded, It was as if the discovery that he could not feel anything upon his body seemed to be an open invitation to stick needles of every kind into his arms and hands. However having once been undead, Lark found that his inability to feel anything upon his skin was less trifling then one might imagine. (Mind you, the shower incident that left his back burned, and Alice's hands scalded, had been quite the lesson) But nonetheless he was Adapting! Now Lark, traveled the daylight hours, and saw the sun. Now he enjoyed coffee shops, and bakeries. He could watch the world though the eyes of the living, and found it to be everything They had said it would be. Though even the mightiest of beings could be brought down by the tiniest of things. Lark, who had spent several years within the confines of a hospital room still had not developed any kind of 'resistance' to the vile thing called a Cold, which he now suffered silently with, But that didn't stop him from enjoying a quiet evening out on the town. At the Local Coffee shop, the Chevalier sat, in his choice pleated and pinstriped black and white pants, a pair of Italian leather shoes, a white button up shirt, scarf, black and grey wool jacket, with his cain resting against his thigh. A cup of tea, with a small jar of honey before him, some delicious sweets, fresh and warm from the oven ready and waiting to be enjoyed. In his left hand was his phone, which he directed to text his Sister. ~Où es-tu?~ [Where are you?] followed by several attempts at sending emoji's which included, but not limited to an eggplant, a smiley face with heart eyes, and a dagger. ~J'ai faim!!~ He was tempted to tell her to put some clothing on, but halted as the subject of her occupation had been a sore topic with him. One he was not ready as of yet to confront, nor honestly able too. After all, it wasn't Alice who didn't call, or write for months on end was it?

Alice
 -::- By all means, things would have been somewhat mediocre by the feminine Caderyn's standards-- if it hadn't been for the swift (and surprising!) recovery of her elder brother. Lark's whereabouts had been a long-kept secret (two years), and just before Christmas she had been summoned to the Isle of Skye on behalf of his unconscious self and informed that he would have no chance of recovery. And just as soon as she'd landed and set a stiletto'd foot inside Portree's Hospital, her alouette set about proving the doctors wrong. As if that weren't surprising enough, it was just after the New Year and Lark was coming along quite well with his recovery and therapy. (Alice didn't mind attending the therapy appointments-- that muscular jock of a therapist was easy on the eyes.) It seemed as if the pair of siblings were tied down to Portree for the foreseeable future-- Lark's doctors were busy analyzing and prodding away at him, trying to figure out how he'd managed to pull through and what caused his memory loss. It would be...a while. Alice pined for her cozy home in Le Val, but it paled in comparison to the joy of having her brother back. Presently, the willowy artist was standing on a wooden block in the middle of a drawing class. The length of her warm complexion was in view, from the tip top of her head, to the very bottom of her feet. Gracefully arched in a practiced, still pose for the surrounding class. Each muscle was relaxed, body accustomed to holding straining poses for lengths of time in one sitting. She didn't seem uncomfortable or bashful. Her hands were held high in a ballerina's pose over her head, chin inclined, eyes cast down. Her breasts hung from her chest, high on her ribcage over the inner curve, and then slope of her waist and over a hip. Her hipbones jutted out beneath a soft skin of russet-colored complexion, long legs crossed at the knees, weight resting on the balls of her toes. Students sketched with focus, not seeming too bothered by her lack of toggery or otherwise flustered by her nudity. It was this way among professionals in art-- sharing the experience of learning where muscles tucked in and tendons attached the sinewy ropes to bone beneath flesh. Alice was every bit the part-- excellently formed, blessed with Olympian muscles (though hardly as trained!). Once dismissed from her position as the class came to a close, she excused herself to a changing room. Lark ought to have been finished with his weekly prodding by now-- and probably-- ah, oui! Hungry. Since he'd been convinced to actually *eat* food, he'd taken to it ravenously. She pulled a wool cowl-necked sweater over her head and fluffed her short, cropped hair. Standing in her underwear and the sweater, she texted back <<Attends, je mets des vêtements!>> [Hold on, I'm putting on clothes!], brow knitting as she inspected the strange set of emojis he'd included with his text. Moments later she emerged, wearing slim black pants and a camel overcoat. On her head rested (ironically) a deep green beret that matched the simple leather handbag she carried. A cigarette was already between her lips, unlit. She was texting as she walked, waving a few farewells to the students and instructor whilst texting Lark. <<J'étais au studio. Où es-tu? Au café, je suppose?>> [I was at the studio. Where are you? At the coffee shop, I assume?] He didn't seem to ever leave it, save for sleeping (which had been one enormous hurdle to leap-- apparently Lark thought he didn't need to sleep!) and therapy appointments. She walked outside into the brisk winter air, slim shoulders leaping up as she shivered. The vespertine strode confidently through the streets, lighting her cigarette as she did. Large, doll-like eyes and a wide, inviting set of lips gave her a somewhat child-like appearance-- which she made up for by being kind of a bitch to anyone she didn't know. With self-assurance as her confirmation, she walked toward the Cafe, which was only a few blocks from their shared, rented apartment anyway. -::-

Lark
The Cafe, was the closest thing to what he had come to remember as home. It was quaint, comfortable, the coffee was delicious, and of course the pastries, both savory and sweet were unlike anything he'd tasted in Portree. There was also the level of conversation that could be had within the comforts of the Cafe. Adrian, and Alice were often called the Angel children of the Caderyn Family. The family who so often had burly, big. and often brutish men reminiscent of their Celtic heritage, and woman who were often times built like the viking woman of old. Had broken the mold at the Birth of Adrian and Alice who were like their french mother built thinner, and more lithe then any before. Lark who had become obsessive over his appearance due to his experience in dream and in world. Was often seen in some form of self adjustment to further enhance his appearance. Alice, would find her brother grooming himself in the polished reflection of a spoon. However at her arrival his demeanor shifted from narcissism to genuine joy! Standing swiftly, (as swiftly as a man with a cain could) he moved to Embrace his sister warmly. " Bonjour petit papillon!" He called warmly as his arms encircled the petite frame of his sister. " Look!" He then said stepping back to model the clothing that she had taken the time to procure from him. It suited his tastes. which often times were not so lavish as hers perhaps. But he did enjoy the regality of what this world provided. No more scratchy tunics, petticoats, infashion tights or ugly boots. (Of course that he carried his pistol at his hip at all times for need of a sword was not lost upon most, nor himself) " It suits me well! " while they could banter back and forth in French, he found the beauty of the language was often lost on those around them. The melody of their tenor would nonetheless draw the gazes of those around. " Come sit, I've ordered you a coffee, and some snacks! " Something about being alive and kicking, (and not because of a Near Death Experience) offered him a different look on life and the world in General. No longer required to live things vicariously through others, or watch the world from the shadows. He found warmth radiating from the coldest depths of him. Of course, there were times when he fell back into his 'dream' self. When he missed the comfort of his Sorceress, the Companionship of the Princess, and the comradery born between the Mythril Tycoon and their former rivalries. He found immense comfort in Alice's presence, it was something that crossed the dream and waking worlds. Something solid that he could hold on to. " come, sit, eat, tell me of your day. The clothed parts!"

Alice
-::- The lissome Caderyn watched through the window as she finished the end of her cigarette, turning it over between her thumb and forefinger thoughtfully as she surveyed him. Ever conscious of his appearance, he was somewhat like a caricature of her-- they shared an indelible vanity which came with the never ending tedium of checking one's appearance. Alice strode through the door after watching him for a moment, grinning to herself about something apparently amusing. "Oui, toujours beau." [Yes, still handsome.] she joked, in reference to his focused double-checking. She swayed behind one of the chairs, boots clicking faintly as she stepped into a warm brotherly embrace. He was gaining some strength! She'd missed those bear hugs. "Bonne nuit, Alouette." [Good evening, Alouette.] she purred, wrapping a pair of thin arms around him to squeeze before offering a couple of gentle 'La Bise' to each cheek. This embracing thing was new-- and sort of unfamiliar for Alice. Back home, and for years leading up to the present, family, friends and strangers in their hometown greeted one another with the quick, efficient air kisses at each cheek known as 'la bisou,' or 'la bise'. The hugging, she surmised, came from this alternate life he'd lived in dreams. It was new, a bit alien, but still endearing. Lark had the kind of charm required to pull these things off. As he stepped back, she eyed him with false skepticism. "Ah, oui! Thees looks good, non?" she chanced in common tongue-- another alien preference of Lark's, but one she would acquiesce. "Ah, yes. Eet does!" she agreed with a warm smile, picking a stray pill of fuzz from his wool coat before dusting something invisible from his shoulder with tender, sisterly attention to detail. " 'Ave you? Ouh, excellent." (She pronounced excellent with a distinctly French accent, but it held the same meaning in both languages.) "Dees place, ze cafe ees good, non?" she asked with an approving glance over the inside of the cafe with a piqued, heavy brow. Papillion sat across from Lark, nestling smoothly into the chair provided with a languorous stretch. "Zere weren't many clothed parts." she grinned at him from under her lashes as she surveyed the array of treats Lark had ordered, seeking out the most savory of them. What did a woman have to do for a simple butter croissant?! His sweet tooth was insatiable. Alice rather enjoyed the fact that one of her occupations (a facet, really!) seemed to unnerve him. He was serious so infrequently that the sudden dive into somber reserve was amusing. She knew he preferred a safer...warmer...more...chaste occupation. But the money was good, and Alice had no want for modesty. It wasn't like she was a stripper! And even then-- was there anything terrible about exotic dancers and their sparkling pasties? Alice didn't think so. "Eet was a good day," she let it go, not wanting him to bring up the porn thing again. Nudity was one thing but witnessing one's sibling discover the dark side of the internet was another thing entirely. "Ah, I had breekfast. Ouh, at noon I tried yoga." she added, pursing her lips as she cleared her sore throat, "Ees your doctor able to...ah...suggest? (she wasn't sure of the correct word) a physician to see?" she tapped her throat, swallowing a bit. "Coming down weeth something." she added, spying the honey on the table. -::-


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