[centre][color=F7941D]𝗦𝗜𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗘 𝗦𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗥𝗢𝗪[/color]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/obN4wAI.png[/img]
[sup][img]https://i.imgur.com/c8eeJvP.png[/img][/sup][/centre][right][sup]Wiating at the Crypt Cafe for Hook and Sinker; [@McHaggis], [@Undine][/sup][/right]
The sun streaming onto the windows of Old Oakes Court found Simone already awake, sitting up her perpetually messy bed with her phone in one hand and the other idly twisting in her hair, light just filtering through the half drawn curtains onto the snowdrift of clothes, books, witchcraft supplies and assorted miscellany on the floor. Some of her thoughts were on unimportant matters; the feed scrolling behind her cracked screen, whether she could be bothered to get up and make tea for herself, where she was going to find blackbriar root at short notice for the introduction to druidism class on Monday. They were the little things that you let distract you from whatever's lurking at the edge of your mind, the big thing that's going make you think about it in a minute but that you can ignore for just a little longer...


The big thing for Simone this morning was honestly a whole bunch of things, wrapped around and about each other until they might as well be one thought. The name of the tangled ball of worries and anxieties, at least, was simple; Hook and Sinker. Half a year ago, there'd have been nothing to think about. Simone would've been looking forward to seeing them at the Crypt Cafe later that day and would probably have still been laughing about whatever they'd gotten up to the previous night. Laurel would've arrived in his immaculate uniform, arm in arm with Emma in her scruffy one, and they'd all have cracked jokes, teased each other and loudly made disparaging remarks about the weirdo in the suit that was always sitting in the corner.

But now? Simone didn't know what to expect, even less what she wanted to happen. Things had changed so dramatically in six months that it was almost unthinkable. Laurel had been unreachable, both emotionally and as a presence, for ages now and Simone had no idea why. Worse still, she couldn't ask Emma because the girl had been withdrawn, cagey and sometimes even waspish whenever they'd met up. Sometimes it had been clearly directed malice (most often at Alice, Simone's then girlfriend) but just as often it had been general hostility and random moments of aggression that made Emma's hackles rise and everyone else take a step back.

So the prospect of seeing them both today was daunting, to be sure. On the one hand, she wanted to go and see them and be a good friend and make it all go back to how it had been before. She was older than the other two, had a real job and was legally an adult, and the nagging, responsible voice at the back of her head (that always sounded like her mother) told her that she should be the one to Sort Things Out. But on the other hand, a large part of her wanted to send a quick message to them both excusing herself from the meetup and spend the whole day in and around her bed, avoiding people and social responsibilities alike.

The tug of war between the two sides had gone back and forth in her head for the past several days now, neither side definitively pulling ahead. More than once she'd taken out her phone to send that fateful message but had pulled back from the brink each time. And now, mere hours before the arranged time, there was a new, fresh desperation on both sides. There was one factor that was slowly but surely winning Simone over towards going though; it was now too late to politely cancel and there's nothing more familiar to the British than sitting through a social event you'd rather have missed because it would've been too awkward to excuse yourself.

With a groan and a grunt, she rolled out of bed. Whether she was going to the cafe or not, Simone was starting to feel hungry enough that staying in bed was no longer a real option. The house was quiet, Ada having left an hour or so ago to give a lecture, so Simone decided to make sure the neighbours were awake by blasting music from her phone. The off-kilter notes of Spellbound by Siouxsie and the Banshees rang through the kitchen as Simone busied herself with making tea, toast and clearing up. It was another way of delaying making a decision, setting a self imposed deadline like "I'll make up my mind when I've had breakfast," but knowing that there's nothing so easy as breaking a promise to yourself.

Armed with cream cheese on toast, strong tea and another 70s tune, Simone returned to her room and booted up her laptop, clearing some folded clothes from the desk chair so she could sit down. She'd come upon another quick delay while making the food, she really aught to check on the Circle's facebook group and see if there was anyone who needed a hand with anything. After all, if there was a desperate need for someone to lift chairs and arrange a council building for a class, she could hardly swan off to hang out with her friends, could she?

But there was nothing. A few people were chattering about Monday's introduction to Druidism, some were looking to get together a group for a pub outing on Saturday night and there was, as always, the background discussion of the Other situation but no one who needed help to save Simone from making a decision. There was a group poll on when the most people would be available for a Circle-wide meetup to discuss 'matter of great importance' that distracted her for a moment (Monday would be best for her, it was he next day off) but when she shut her laptop, there was no longer room for doubt.

She was going to have to go.

A twinge of guilt twisted in her gut a that thought and another went off when she realised just how hard she'd been trying to avoid this little meeting. It wasn't that she didn't want to see Hook and Sinker, she just didn't want to have to face questions as to why she'd missed so many other meetings, mostly because she had no good answers and no new excuses. Still, you had to face the music some time and you might as well look your best while doing it.

The next little while was spent sorting through her clothes, carefully filed across the floor, and selecting an appropriate outfit. Something cool and eye catching definitely but not too bold, she didn't want to look she was having too much fun. Obviously there'd be an array of enamel pins attached but which ones? She had an old biscuit tin filled with the damn things and still more pinned to various dungarees and jackets spread across the flat. Eventually she settled on a maroon bomber jacket, some muted orange flared trousers, her 'Dead Lame' t-shirt (a local band that were rumoured to be entirely made up of ghosts, vampires and dhampires) and a huge pair of sunglasses. Her hair got rather less attention, she just combed into a heap and sprayed it to (hopefully) keep it in place.

As she stepped outside and locked the door, she knew she was setting off a little too early and would be at the cafe at least a quarter of an hour before when they'd arranged but that was all well and good. She had her laptop with her, stuffed into the tote bag hanging off her shoulder, and she could work on one of the lesson plans she'd be neglecting for her upcoming course on the fundamentals of Elementalism. The Crypt Cafe was a nice place to work, she found, because you never had to wait that long before someone you knew would come and disturb you, giving you a perfect excuse to look away from your work.

It wasn't long before she was curled up in a corner seat at the back of the cafe, a large cup of coffee (lots of cream, lots of sugar) in front of her and her laptop on her knees. She'd made it here. Now all that she had to do was wait for the other two to arrive...