my head is an animal;; [open]

[AMY WINSTON]

The past few months had been...rough on Amy. Sleepless nights, long, dwindling days, the bitter cold of New York in the winter time seeping through the walls of her cheap apartment and down into her bones, giving her a chill she could never quite shake. Flinching at every small noise, afraid to check her phone in case it was him. He was dangerous, she knew that now, she didn't know how she could have gone on for so long thinking otherwise, loving him, trusting him. She had changed her phone number three different times, across two different carriers. (It was just paranoia, for all she knew he was already corrupting the life of another innocent girl, one who wasn't so square.)

Forgetting Jon Rossum was like trying forget the words to her favorite song, he was attatched to the neurons in her brain, every synapse, every single reaction and feeling was tied to him in some way, and most days she wished for amnesia. She had gotten away from him, far away and still he infected her like a virus, causing her to shy away from someone who mattered, who was important to her, simply because she knew she was broken.

He stopped trying to contact her after the sixteenth time that she had created a bogus excuse to not go outside. They all had. She thought she was going to be okay, and then she wasn't.

Amy had gotten by, as she always did. Got her old apartment back, got a job at an antique store. But she was ever so lonely. Once the snow started to melt, she went out more, making forays into the world to try and test the waters. If she was okay with making small talk with strangers on the subway, maybe she could eventually manage again with real people. But it was strange. There were days when she felt small, very small. Too small to see past all the others, and then some days she felt large and conspicuous. That everyone was just staring at her and wouldn't stop.

That was how she felt on this particularly chilly day, as she snatched away her Venti Pumpkin Spice Latte from the slightly overweight barista behind the counter. He was glaring at her though his unnecessary spectacles, as though she was imposing on his company, and she scurried off to a window seat, dodging his glare. She had taken to doing this, window watching from the various shops of New York. She had been gaining courage recently, not as reclusive, and today was a good day.

If she happened to see someone that she knew, she could feign that she had just run into them out of the blue (crazy random happenstance indeed), and then hold a conversation. She was feeling freer after the winter of her discontent, lighter with the knowledge that though Jon Rossum wasn't quite forgotten, he at least didn't seem to be bothering her anymore.

OOC: I DONT KNOW HOW I FEEL ABOUT THE POST YET YELLS

[ADAM CARMINE]

OUTFIT


“Grande coffee, two sugars please. No cream.” Adam offered the rather plump barista a polite—and quite possibly pitying—smile as he handed her the ten dollar bill, depositing about half his change in the tin marked “tips” resting next to the cash register. He was feeling generous today, almost obnoxiously so. But then, he did have plenty to spare. Recently closing a vital deal between two highly competitive customers had given him both a raise and bonus within the past month, so maybe it was only fitting he share some of his newfound good fortune with the world.

Generous, indeed.

Thanking the second barista with yet another smile, Adam sipped his coffee hesitantly, noting with slight annoyance that they’d obviously given him a shot of cream along with the sugars. Half a pump—just enough to see they’d at least noticed their mistake halfway through, but enough present so that the taste was obvious. He could complain. Get his money back, probably, if he went about it the right way. But what was four dollars and thirty cents going to do in the long run, really? He’d hardly miss it on a bad day, and today everything had a silver lining. Why, even that lonely looking girl sitting at the window; she had to have a story, same as anyone else. And Adam could tell she was lonely by the way her shoulders stooped, could see she missed something by just how her eyes cast out the window, like they were glazed over but still on high alert for something. Or someone. He didn’t particularly care, so long as the case was interesting. And anyway, maybe it was fate. Maybe, he thought as he put a cardboard sleeve snug around his cup, biding for time, maybe he’d been meant to have that extra bit of cream in his cup, to turn around in moderate annoyance and see this woman—no, girl, she was definitely a girl, at least today—alone, clearly waiting for someone to stop just long enough to look at her properly. Adam knew full well he could be that person. He was an excellent listener, and by God if he hadn’t already looked her over from head to toe without fully realizing it. She was worth it, definitely. The conversation. Besides, Adam was fairly well known for being a good listener.

He made his way to the window seat easily, slipping around two gossiping women without a second glance, for his eyes were now completely fixed on this young and fragile feather. They were almost as fascinating as the strong ones, he’d found. The leaves that bent without breaking. This girl—she was certainly a leaf.

“Do you mind if I sit?” he spoke politely, with a softness that clearly established his not wanting to intrude her more private thoughts. It was just crowded in here, and just like anyone else, he’d rather not head back to the street. Different from anyone else, however, was that he’d seen her; and not only that, but he wanted to sit down. To drink coffee with her, to know her, which really was the truth of it. How could she refuse?