It’s with a quiet sigh that he sits across from the stranger. He stretches his hands, pressing fingers against the sore pads of his palms. It’d been a rough lesson this morning —- a little girl who could as much control her abilities as she could her tongue. It was a good thing he’d installed fire retardant Wall Grabblers a few months ago, or else he’d be looking for a new house right now and not just a waiter to bring him a cuppa.
Eventually a man does come by. Siddhartha places his order without looking: black coffee and a croissant. Too much food and he’ll be out of sorts for his next appointment.
“You sure are busy.” he says amicably, glancing over at the stranger from behind his cup.
[ Java makes a noncommittal 'mm' sound that neither invites conversation nor discourages it. He is busy, but he also gets twitchy when not multitasking. Talking to a stranger whilst working would be infinitely more productive than playing Minesweeper. ]
[ He glances up at the stranger just long enough to remember his face before setting down his coffee and continuing to type. ]
You know-- [ his words are punctuated by the tap-tap-tapping of the keys ] --your collar's kind of burnt. Right here.
[ He taps the base of his own neck, where the cotton of his crewneck meets skin. ]
