Elliot often felt sorry for himself and it wasn’t an attractive attribute. He knew that, and he saw it was a flaw. He saw it as a monkey on his back that had begun to cling as soon as Pi’s blood had touched his lips; as soon as his tongue had undulated to swallow that liquid that would change his life forever. It was Temperance’s sudden sympathy that had Elliot realising what he was doing. Sinking, tainting the conversation with morbid negativity.
She got up to order the coffee and Elliot told her he liked his long blacks. When she returned the liquid was hot and the sent was intoxicating. And Elliot had a broad smile for Temperance, rather than a frown. He’d been watching the people coming and going outside; there was no commotion coming from down the street and his phone had not made a sound. Maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe he’d sit there like a dolt all night and nothing would come of it. Maybe, in the end, there was nothing to worry about, and all along he should have just trusted his girls to be reasonable adults.
”Thank you,” he said as he lifted the mug to his lips. The caffeine felt as if it hit his blood stream just by smell alone. That was why he liked long blacks so much. It was a sensory experience rather than just a taste. He shook his head after savouring that first sip.
”That’s fine. Maybe you should drag me away, too,” he said. Surely, Elliot had better things to do than sit around in a café waiting for his pseudo-wife and childe to cause some kind of eruption somewhere nearby.
”What kind of errands?” Elliot asked. A way to change the topic, even though it was perhaps personal. A rather idiotic segue, actually, but Elliot had never really been a socially adept giant. That was part of his charm—the awkward way in which he bumbled through conversations like a genuinely confused giraffe.
She got up to order the coffee and Elliot told her he liked his long blacks. When she returned the liquid was hot and the sent was intoxicating. And Elliot had a broad smile for Temperance, rather than a frown. He’d been watching the people coming and going outside; there was no commotion coming from down the street and his phone had not made a sound. Maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe he’d sit there like a dolt all night and nothing would come of it. Maybe, in the end, there was nothing to worry about, and all along he should have just trusted his girls to be reasonable adults.
”Thank you,” he said as he lifted the mug to his lips. The caffeine felt as if it hit his blood stream just by smell alone. That was why he liked long blacks so much. It was a sensory experience rather than just a taste. He shook his head after savouring that first sip.
”That’s fine. Maybe you should drag me away, too,” he said. Surely, Elliot had better things to do than sit around in a café waiting for his pseudo-wife and childe to cause some kind of eruption somewhere nearby.
”What kind of errands?” Elliot asked. A way to change the topic, even though it was perhaps personal. A rather idiotic segue, actually, but Elliot had never really been a socially adept giant. That was part of his charm—the awkward way in which he bumbled through conversations like a genuinely confused giraffe.
