@museswithattitude
Honestly, a cafe on 8th, between 38 and 39, was the last place that Jean has expected to see him. But frankly, when did one ever expect to see Lucas Bishop, all decked out in his usual getup, storming over in her direction.
"Lucas," she greeted, a faint violet aura emanating around her head, as the teaspoon in front of her telekinetically stirred sugar into an espresso, as a small saucer poured some cream into the same receptacle, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"












