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[sub]Collab between [@cerozer0] & [@murdoc]
Interacting with: Lyra Proctor [@Aamaya][/sub][/center]
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[b][color=d3bcb7]“You could say that. I was working on a paper.”[/color][/b] Sounding suitably exhausted, Julian reaches beneath the counter to retrieve his laptop. [b][color=d3bcb7]“Got, like, six hundred words done before passing out.”[/color][/b]

When he opens the laptop, an unfinished essay appears onscreen, the very last line cutting off abruptly in the middle as if he’d fallen asleep at his desk. It was a half-truth; he [i]had[/i] been working on a paper, just not last night, though he couldn’t exactly tell Cynthia what he was really up to, could he? Even if she wasn’t privy to the world of witches, warlocks, and all things magical, this secret of his was something he’d prefer to keep.

The bandage around his hand, however, remained an unfortunate side-effect of last night’s activities. Already, he feels a thick, liquid warmth beginning to seep through again, a bloom of crimson slowly spreading across the surface. [i]Stupid, stupid, stupid[/i]. He should never have let it get this bad. But now, all he can do is distract, and hope that the other wouldn’t think anything of it.

[b][color=d3bcb7]“Ugh, I need some coffee.”[/color][/b] Julian groans, stretching like a cat, before seeming to remember something. [b][color=d3bcb7]“Oh, wait. My mom told me to give you this.”[/color][/b]

Rummaging through his bag once again, he eventually extricates an oat-and-pecan granola bar wrapped in cling film, and hands it to Cynthia. [b][color=d3bcb7]“She says you don’t eat enough.”[/color][/b]

[b][color=5E7366]“Oh, your mother worries too much about me.”[/color][/b] Cynthia smiles pleasantly as she takes the granola bar and looks it over. Nuts, ech– also made by the woman who she has a sneaking suspicion is a devil-summoning witch. [b][color=5E7366]“Ah, crap. I should have told her I’m allergic to nuts.”[/color][/b] She lies in a soft mumble, loud enough for Julian to hear before slipping the snack into her bag.

[b][color=5E7366]“In any case, I feel she should be worried a little more about [i]you[/i], hon.”[/color][/b] Cynthia rounds the corner of the counter and begins adjusting some misplaced crystals and labels, keeping her eyes on him, [b][color=5E7366]“Falling asleep while writing isn’t good for your health. And– did you hurt your hand too?”[/color][/b]

She taps the back of her hand, as if indicating he should look down, and then turns to continue some restocking she had left over from yesterday. 

Julian is a good kid. He’s the right amount of stressed a little college boy should be, and he seems to like her. That does not bar him from suspicion, though, but asking overly personal questions would blow away the tame and friendly persona she has built up over the past few weeks working here.

Julian doesn’t miss the comment Cynthia makes regarding her allergy, though he sees no need to interject. Truth be told, he did think it was a little strange how he’d never actually seen Cynthia eat any of the food they gave her, but it seemed as if it wasn’t anything worth worrying about. Not quite yet, at least.

[b][color=d3bcb7]“Yeah, but it’s nothing. Just cut myself making dinner, s’all. Like a [i]dumbass[/i].”[/color][/b] Julian just rolls his eyes and shrugs, like he’s tired of the other babying him all the time. But slowly, his lips begin to stretch into a wry, impish smirk, and he leans closer to Cynthia. [b][color=d3bcb7]“You know, you’re kind of starting to sound like my mom.”[/color][/b]

[b][color=5E7366]“I’ve always sounded like a mother, doesn’t necessarily have to be your mom.”[/color][/b] Cynthia chuckles as she pinches his nose and rounds an aisle, turning out any out of place labels. Her expression masks the worming disgust she feels in the pit of her stomach. Sounding like a witch? Really? She’d rather die than hear such a thing again truthfully.

But Julian can’t know that. Not if he is just like his mother.

She returns to his side, ruffling his hair in a friendly but non-invasive way. [b][color=5E7366]“It’s good to have a ton of moms, kid. I wish I did.”[/color][/b] Turning up the sympathy dial a tad, Cynthia projects a look of forlorn acceptance and stares out the window. Somehow, it feels a little like relief, allowing a small truth to slip out into her web, but she doesn’t cling too hard to such a feeling. It would maim her later if she let it stick around.

[b][color=5E7366]“Ah, I think we have a regular coming.”[/color][/b] Cynthia says, skipping back around the counter as the shadow of Lyra approaches the door.

[b][color=d3bcb7]“Alright, fine. You sound like [i]a[/i] mom — hey!”[/color][/b] Julian makes to swat away Cynthia’s hand, though not before she makes a quick retreat behind some shelves.

Despite himself, he feels his skin start to crawl, almost painfully. Julian never liked people touching him, even in the most innocuous of ways. It made him… uncomfortable, made him want to rip and tear and bite at whoever it was that touched him, but happy, normal, [i]well-adjusted[/i] Julian couldn’t do that, could he? [i]That[/i] Julian would simply laugh it off, maybe sulk a little if he was feeling kind of crabby, but none of that compared to what he [i]really[/i] wanted to do.

So instead, he just takes a deep, steadying breath, and holds it until he feels the [i]wrongness[/i] in his chest begin to die down. Cynthia would be back any second now; he couldn’t afford to let her see through his facade. By the time she returns, he’s tapping away at his laptop — the very image of a hard-working college student. But when Cynthia reaches over to ruffle his hair, Julian draws back in an involuntary flinch, like he’d been burnt. Thankfully, she appeared distracted by her own worries, and he just plays it off with an exasperated huff of laughter. [b][color=d3bcb7]“Stop, c’mon. I need to write this stupid paper.”[/color][/b]

[b][color=d3bcb7]“Well, either way, we’re both glad you’re here.”[/color][/b] Julian shoots Cynthia a shy, furtive glance, lips quirking into a smile, before returning his attention to the essay. But just as he’s about to type his first word, the bell above the front door jingles, and a familiar face steps inside. [i]Lyra[/i].

[b][color=d3bcb7]“I’ll help her.”[/color][/b] Hopping off his chair, he walks around to where Lyra was. As usual, she had a whole laundry list of ingredients she wanted to purchase, some of which were terribly difficult to come by in this day and age, and would be hell to find in the backroom. Still, he just plasters a pleasant smile on his face, and accedes to her request. [b][color=d3bcb7]“Sure, let me look in the back. It’ll just take a minute.”[/color][/b]

As he makes his way to the back of the store, Julian lets some of the tension drain out of his shoulders. It’s kind of a mystery how Lyra has managed to get this far without arousing suspicion. Perhaps no one believed she was a witch because she looked and behaved too much like one — that was one way to hide in plain sight, he supposed.

Cynthia’s back straightened when she catches sight of Lyra. Yes, yes— she’s seen this one around before. Her attire, her knowledge, even her way of speaking seemed to [i]ooze[/i] sin. It was tantalizing, sitting in the same room as a woman just asking to be hanged from the rafters.

[b][color=5E7366]“Julian will be back soon, Lyra.”[/color][/b] Cynthia smiles. She only knows her name from Miriam and Julian’s calling of her, but she has seen the woman come in once or twice in search of some sweet smelling herbs. [b][color=5E7366]“In the meantime, though– how have you been? We haven’t really gotten to know each other, hmm~?”[/color][/b]