Charlie sits, without asking if she can and without wondering if Emery would mind. She needs a coffee to go and she’d rather wait with her own kind than sit awkwardly at the counter and make small talk with the waitress there. Even if she’s frequented this establishment enough that most servers here known her by name. That’s Seamus’ fault. “Sorry,” she mumbles politely, tucking herself into the booth but she doesn’t think the man will truly mind, but it doesn’t stop her from fiddling with a piece of hair she swiftly moves behind her ear. That’s a nervous tick but at least she’s with her own, because there’s this intense desire to be surrounded by noise and the Syndicate after raiding the apartment complex. There’s safety in numbers. “Waiting on coffee.”