Third cup of coffee today. Nicer cup than what I usually use. My current favorite is a big orange round BB8 cup from Star Wars. It holds a metric shit ton of coffee and it stays warm and it isn't top heavy or weirdly delicate. This cup at Batman's is one of his custom-commissioned designer teal and charcoal-grey west coast hand-fired stoneware cups built to specifically fit a man's hands.
His entire set of dishes cost something like 4k. I remember. Jasper showed me the invoice in the middle of an argument once and I never forget. Who the hell spends many thousands of dollars on dishes. Especially since it's merely a full set for only ten people. Not even twelve. Just ten.
(Any more than ten at the table and no one can carry on a conversation, he theorized.)
(That was another argument, but I digress.)
Not only do I love a circus of a dinner but I love cups that are pretty and work well. His are far nicer than mine and I might steal this one when he turns his back. It's what I do. I actually never brought back one of his little dessert dishes. He brought me a piece of cake and said I could return the plate in the morning. I did not and he hasn't asked for. I guess he's only set up for a party of nine now.
Or two, as it were.
I'm wired but fixed in place, lightning bolts shooting all over the place, burning my world to the ground, all the while nodding at his thoughts as he tosses them at me gently, agreeing with what he says without hearing him at all. My mind is firing from the caffeine. I have no inbetween, I'm either manic or panic and then asleep. There's no sit and talk. I don't have a sit and talk setting. I have to keep moving or I'm going to pass out, snoring on your elbow as you try to tell me your hopes and dreams. I already know what they are. They're tangled in my own.
We're not all that different, though I am exceedingly poor by default and he doesn't even think about money. Richer than Caleb, or so I think sometimes, and yet instead of throwing it at me by the fistful Batman makes controlled gestures based on merit, employment, after a fashion and the rest of the time I truly believe he just forgets he's wealthy.
The thought that someone could even do that keeps me fascinated by his mind.
I finish my coffee and realize he's staring at me.
Waiting.
Well, what do you think?
Mmmm, I nod. Play dumb. Can I change the subject?
No, he says, more kindly than I deserve. I'd like an answer so I can make some plans.
Go ahead and make your plans.
You're up for it? Now?
Wait. What? (midnight green, you say?)
Where the hell are you? He looks so done with me. Gone is the formality and in it's place a lonely, irritated man who's pushing mid-fifties and hasn't figured out the meaning of life even though he already bought it and it's in his inventory. He just needs to level up.
That's a good question.
Did he give you something?
I'm sorry?
Did Lochlan give you a sleeping pill last night? It's usually the only time you're this scattered.
(ashes on the wind, bitch.)
Yes, I think so. It didn't work but the coffee isn't helping.
I see that.
I should go.
Let me know by the morning and we can iron things down.
Sure thing.
Call me tonight if you'd like a refresher on the conversation. You don't even know what you're agreeing to. He leans down and kisses my cheek, takes my coveted mug and walks me to the door. He's so disappointed the grey in the mug pattern has darkened to black.
His entire set of dishes cost something like 4k. I remember. Jasper showed me the invoice in the middle of an argument once and I never forget. Who the hell spends many thousands of dollars on dishes. Especially since it's merely a full set for only ten people. Not even twelve. Just ten.
(Any more than ten at the table and no one can carry on a conversation, he theorized.)
(That was another argument, but I digress.)
Not only do I love a circus of a dinner but I love cups that are pretty and work well. His are far nicer than mine and I might steal this one when he turns his back. It's what I do. I actually never brought back one of his little dessert dishes. He brought me a piece of cake and said I could return the plate in the morning. I did not and he hasn't asked for. I guess he's only set up for a party of nine now.
Or two, as it were.
I'm wired but fixed in place, lightning bolts shooting all over the place, burning my world to the ground, all the while nodding at his thoughts as he tosses them at me gently, agreeing with what he says without hearing him at all. My mind is firing from the caffeine. I have no inbetween, I'm either manic or panic and then asleep. There's no sit and talk. I don't have a sit and talk setting. I have to keep moving or I'm going to pass out, snoring on your elbow as you try to tell me your hopes and dreams. I already know what they are. They're tangled in my own.
We're not all that different, though I am exceedingly poor by default and he doesn't even think about money. Richer than Caleb, or so I think sometimes, and yet instead of throwing it at me by the fistful Batman makes controlled gestures based on merit, employment, after a fashion and the rest of the time I truly believe he just forgets he's wealthy.
The thought that someone could even do that keeps me fascinated by his mind.
I finish my coffee and realize he's staring at me.
Waiting.
Well, what do you think?
Mmmm, I nod. Play dumb. Can I change the subject?
No, he says, more kindly than I deserve. I'd like an answer so I can make some plans.
Go ahead and make your plans.
You're up for it? Now?
Wait. What? (midnight green, you say?)
Where the hell are you? He looks so done with me. Gone is the formality and in it's place a lonely, irritated man who's pushing mid-fifties and hasn't figured out the meaning of life even though he already bought it and it's in his inventory. He just needs to level up.
That's a good question.
Did he give you something?
I'm sorry?
Did Lochlan give you a sleeping pill last night? It's usually the only time you're this scattered.
(ashes on the wind, bitch.)
Yes, I think so. It didn't work but the coffee isn't helping.
I see that.
I should go.
Let me know by the morning and we can iron things down.
Sure thing.
Call me tonight if you'd like a refresher on the conversation. You don't even know what you're agreeing to. He leans down and kisses my cheek, takes my coveted mug and walks me to the door. He's so disappointed the grey in the mug pattern has darkened to black.