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illuminction.
Benji’s expression doesn’t waver from delight, not as Wren’s cheeks tint with a blush nor as they lift their hand up to their mouth to stifle something Benji half wishes to hear. The way Wren’s mind works is a delightful mystery and it’s for that reason, they’re easily one of the baker’s favorite customers. Not that he plays favorites, of course. Not at all! Benji props his arms along the top of the display, chin coming to rest in the cradle formed by the backs of his intertwined fingers. He watches them fidget, following the trail of a hand down to just over where Benji knows their heart would be. “It might be just sweet enough for someone sweet,” he muses, cheeks dimpling with the force of his smile. Then he’s pulling away, getting the proper gloves on to handle the food himself. He may have loved to watch Wren’s reaction as he actually licked caramel off of his fingers but sanitary reasons and the ever-present threat of inspection keeps him in order. He cuts a slice of the cake, its freshness making the process easier. The still warm delicacy is placed into a perfectly sized box, which is then slid across the counter towards the waiting customer. “Five fifty for the slice,” he hums, disposable gloves tossed as he meanders to the register. “And if you happen to fall in love, the rest of the cake would be thirty, even.” Lazily, Benji half-leans, half-sits on the edge of the counter, watching Wren in amusement. “I don’t know if you have plans or anything, but I’d very much like to see you take a bite. Call it a baker’s ego stroking.” He nods his nose towards the plastic forks they keep on hand for samples or for those who just can’t wait to get home. “Please?”
I’m bitter. Like dry tea leaves. The words almost flood to their tongue with a hint of playful sarcasm, but they swallow them down, choosing instead to indulge in the compliment they’ve been given and allow themself that rightful rush of blood to their face for it. Being embarrassed by something stupid they almost said and being bashful because they were called ‘sweet’ are two very different things, and they figure one of them is more likely to be permitted than the other --- at least in their humble opinion. Watching with attentiveness as Benji goes about getting their piece of the treat he’d just finished baking, Wren tries to ignore the slight ache in the arch of their feet, not wanting to look uncomfortable just from the short walk down here and then standing in place for a couple of minutes. It’s not just that seeing as they’ve been up and about all day at work, but they’re feeling a little lazy after sleeping in this morning, and they irrationally think that’s going to show through in some sort of negative light to the people around them. They’re trying to keep their energy positive today.
“Oh, yeah. Sure.” They fail to mention they don’t actually have more than about eight dollars on them, instead reaching into the pocket of their corduroys to pull out their little hand-sewn wallet. It has blue, purple, and periwinkle baby’s breath embroidered on a light grey background. “No plans! I mean, obviously I have to go back to work, but I’m only ten minutes into my twenty-five minute break, so. We should be good.” They offer him a smile as they hold their hand out, a five and a one being offered to him that should cover it. Then they pick up the fork and set about taking a bite, being a little too careful to not make a mess. Wren leans over the little container and for good measure also puts their hand beneath the fork as they bring it to their mouth, letting out a little sound of happiness as it reaches their tongue. Naturally, it’s delicious, but for the sake of flirtation (which they would never call it that, thanks very much), they pretend to furrow their brow as they chew, twirling the utensil in their hand and crossing one arm over their belly. “Hmm.” They hum as they feign thinking about it, leaning their weight on their right side and pushing their hip out a bit. “I guess it’s okay...if you like your baked goods perfect and delicious. Being incredible at your job is kinda overrated if you ask me.”
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he...y it’s me dash (re: trash) and i literally have zero (0) threads to do so it would be nice if anyone was around and wanted to plot if we could establish something? and maybe do a closed thread or? idk. but i need things to do like... please lmao. you can like this if you want or send me an IM.
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illuminction.
Her shoulders relax in familiarity before they even have to speak a word. If anyone had to happen upon her in her state of disarray, she’s glad it’s them. Not that Rory has anyone to impress, in particular, but she imagines that her current state wouldn’t make a great first impression should she have made her inquiry of a complete stranger. “A minor victory,” she smiles, quickly followed by a gracious nod. “Truth be told, I’m just going for not-ruined as my look here today which isn’t being achieved by this nest.” Her fingers catch in a tangle as though proving her point and an airy laugh leaves her lips. “I think down may be easiest for us both? If you want to just help take all the bits and bobs out of it?” She’s reaching out for their hand in an invitation that doesn’t have to be voiced.
“Right.” Wren is in agreement with the strategy, and they give her their hand, offering a soft squeeze before they release it and set to work pulling the ‘bits and bobs’ from her tangles. She has very pretty hair, though they choose generally to not comment on the physical appearance of others, as it isn’t particularly pertinent to them or something they’re entitled to have an opinion on so far as they’re concerned. Gods know that they would prefer it if people didn’t have an opinion on their appearance, so they choose to put out what they want from the world and hope for karma to settle the rest. The cosmic balance seems to have been tipped against them thus far, but they’ve got a lot of years left, and they’ve never been much for giving up. “Not-ruined is something that we can achieve here. Where do you want these?” They aren’t sure if she has a bag sitting around or something to place them in, so currently they’re just holding what they get out in the palm of their hand. “I’ve got pockets!” If that helps at all.
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bbykiera.
“okay, the phrase ‘the customer is always right’ is fuckin’ bullshit!” kiera lowly growled, slumping down in the green chair, slumping low, her face barely visible under her baseball cap she wore to hide her slightly greasy hair. “she was complaining that her coffee was too hot, so i remade it and then she said it was too fucking cold. like i’m sorry, but maybe just deal with it or remove the stick from your ass that’s got you so uptight!” she ranted. “this job has me ready for death…”.
“People are just...entitled. I dunno, it’s like if they want something a certain way, they expect customer service workers to bend over backwards to make it that way for them. And yeah, I think that it has a lot to do with that ‘the customer is always right’ mindset that you pointed out. Corporate America would rather their workers feel like garbage to make more money and still pay minimum wage than offer even close to proper compensation for the invariable abuse they train them to take day in and day out. It’s ridiculous.” As a small business owner, Wren can’t exactly say ‘down with the Capitalist Agenda’, but it isn’t as if they actually participate in the type of inconsistencies and down-right criminal negligence she’s pointing out. Their one worker is very happy, thanks! And no, they aren’t talking about themself. “Try not to want to die too much over a job, though. Jobs can change.”
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ohliivias.
Her shoulders slouched when she saw what she’d done to their seashells and she felt her heart break a little. “No! Of course I’m going to worry about it. I’m so sorry. At least let me help you find more seashells? It’s the least I can do for…destroying most of yours!” Her cheeks were flushed, she hadn’t felt so embarrassed in such a long time and all because she just wanted one trip to the beach on her own. Olivia got down on her knees and set her bag to the side so she could see what the shells looked like and what colours some of them were. “Were you planning on making something with these?” She asked them, shooting a gentle smile in their direction. They looked a little freaked out apart from any other range of emotions that seemed to flash through her mind, that she’d broken the shells. Her smile was still not faltering and blonde hair fell into her eyes as she continued to observe the shells in front of her. “I’m Olivia, by the way! And I would still give you…whatever you wanted at the bakery for free, if you’ll let me. I’m sure my boss wouldn’t care if I talked to him and told him I was the ass that tripped over you. I’m never in my head like that.” Which was quite a hefty lie, but she was trying to make them feel a little better, if anything.
Admittedly, they are a little bit shaken up, but they aren’t upset at her for it or anything. Wren isn’t the type of person who is prone to anger easily, or really prone to any sort of strong emotion for that matter; they’re level-headed, cautious, and above all pretty chill. Needless to say, this isn’t something they necessarily feel like they need recompense for, and more than anything it’s the physical contact that has startled them. The shells aren’t that big of a deal. “If you want to.” They say, tone fairly neutral, and they don’t move forward just yet to check out which of their shells have survived and which haven’t. It’s not something they need to see, at least until she’s moved far enough away that they can look without her being near or even potentially being close enough to touch. It’s nothing against her, it’s just how they are. “Yeah, I make jewelry to sell in my shop. Sometimes come down here and look to see if I can find anything that will look nice. It’s not life or death or anything.” They’ve got plenty of products to sell right now, but they have restless hands, and they like to always have something to do with them. Her face is vaguely familiar, and they figure they must’ve seen her around Pink Icing a time or two before. They’re a frequent customer for more than one reason, so it wouldn’t really be all that surprising. “Wren. That’s really not necessary, Olivia. No permanent damage was done.” At least not to either of them. The shells, however, will never be the same again.
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bvddecisions.
“ next time i say, hey, working seven days straight and picking up shifts so that i can maybe hopefully move my way into a server position sounds like a good idea, knock me upside the head okay? because i am exhausted and never want to see another dirty table ever again.” elijah said with a groan, followed shortly by a yawn. “ but hey, the money was totally worth it. so much extra cash in my pocket for me to play with now. “
“Wait... If it was worth it, wouldn’t that mean I shouldn’t resort to violence in order to stop you? I mean, far be it for me to say, but you’ve pretty much implied the ends justifies the means here.” Wren speaks quickly, not thinking too much about what they’re saying for once, mostly because it all sort of makes very clear sense. They’ve got their hands cupped about a mug of tea, and they’re currently seated cross-legged on the floor, mind continuously wandering back to all of the things they need to finish today. It’s quite the long list, but they’re feeling lazy, and despite their pretty stellar work ethic, productivity just seems beyond their reach. “Anyway, I’m a pacifist. Even hypothetically.”
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ohliivias.
she had the day off and maybe she’d try the beach. it wasn’t AS sunny outside as it usually was, so she covered herself in sunscreen and pulled on the bikini she hasn’t worn in two years with a pair of shorts and headed outside. smiling at passing tourists and citizens of dove port, she slides her sunglasses on. crossing the street, she can feel the sun humidity weighing her down a little, but as she got closer to the beach, the breeze felt good on her skin. taking a deep breath, she turned to take the two or three steps down into the sand and stumbled right on top of someone that was lounging there. “holy shit!” she shrieked and was quick to roll off of them in time to apologise profusely. she wasn’t sure how many times she’d said the phrase, but she was sure it had gotten up to about fifty-seven by now. “i…will give you a free pass at pink icing for a week. i mean, i’ll need to speak to lionel about it, but i am so sorry! this is like my first trip to the beach this summer during the day and i would make a huge fool of myself!” it’s nervous laughter now because the smile never leaves her face as she looks down at the other individual.
The little pile of seashells Wren is harboring between their thighs catch the light, iridescent insides creating rainbows that they trace their fingertips over smoothly. It’s hot out today, but despite that, they’re still fully clothed, not comfortable enough with their body to show it off in any capacity, even when they take trips like this to the beach. Their toes are in the sand at least, nails painted a soft blue that matches the color of the sky, and they’re currently focused on their haul for the day. All of these are going to be used for one thing or another in their shop, which is exactly why they’ve afforded the time to come down here themself, closing up temporarily, though Rory is still manning the fort in regards to production. Also in regards to keeping their cat company, which is quite important. Wren’s head is filled with thoughts of the various pieces of jewelry they’re going to be able to create now, and it’s then that a shadow falls over them, alerting them to someone else’s presence. Unfortunately, that someone else seems to of not seen them, and before they know it, they’re tumbling over them and leaving the pair in a heap of limbs. It’s stressful, causing a spike in Wren’s anxiety, and they scramble away as best as they can, the sudden (and slightly painful) physical contact stressing them out. They don’t really like to touch or be touched under normal circumstances, let alone ones as alarming as this. “I --- shit, um. No, that’s fine. Like, it’s fine.” Hazel eyes fall to the mess that has become of their shells, a lot of them now broken to pieces, and they frown, their heart sinking. “Damn.” Shoulders sagging slightly, their cheeks puff out on a sigh, and then they lift their gaze to the stranger. “Don’t worry about it.”
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illuminction.
Benji has a way of giving every customer his complete and utter attention and listens to Wren’s ramblings with rapt interest. It helps that the other is so expressive, his whole being seemingly coming to life, just at Benji’s prompting. “What I’ve personally baked? How flattering!” Benji moves spryly to the far end of the display case, making a sweeping hand gesture to draw Wren’s eyes to his wares. “I’ve made all the scones this morning – apple cinnamon, blueberry, lemon, you know the drill – as well as the carrot and pumpkin loaves in case you wanted a slice of either of those. For cupcakes, I did the chocolate, red velvet, and the minis as well as a few of the specialty cupcakes: banana pudding, devil’s food, confetti, sno-cap, and the flourless chocolate with the vanilla bean meringue buttercream icing. Did the fruit crisp mini pies, a few of the daily cakes, but the one freshest out of the oven is the caramel drizzle which I think would taste especially nice. I barely resisted licking the topping off my fingers.” He thinks his array is rather impressive and, of course, there are a few more treats on the lineup for after lunch hours but those are more made to order and wouldn’t reach the hands of the general public. “If none of those whet your palate, just say so. I won’t be offended, I promise!”
Flattering! Wren’s cheeks go a little bit pink as they consider the implications of that, over-thinking things as per usual. As slow and steady as they tend to be both in personality and emotionally, they’ve still got a touch of anxiety when it comes to how they translate in social situations, and the potential interpretations of their own words weigh quite heavy on their mind. Benji seems pleased by it regardless of whether or not the blood has rushed into their face, so they decide to just go with it, hoping for the best and tugging at the hem of their baggy t-shirt surreptitiously. They listen intently as he lists off their options, teeth digging into the inside of their cheek until it’s tender, because that’s what they’ve got to do to keep their smile from getting too big just as a result of his enthusiasm, which is positively intoxicating. “That one.” They interject just as he finishes, and then they lift a hand to clasp it over their mouth, as if the mental image that had accompanied his explanation for the ‘caramel drizzle’ is going to spill right out along with their outburst. How humiliating. Shifting where they are just a bit, they try to occupy themself by pulling their gaze away from him and towards the display case, giving a little nod and sliding their hand down the column of their own throat. It comes to rest on their chest, the rabbiting of their heartbeat obvious beneath their palm. “I mean, I’d like to try the caramel drizzle, please. How much did you say that one was?” Wren clears their throat, glancing towards the door, and then finally allowing themself to bring hazel eyes back to Benji. They’re already reaching for the couple of bills tucked carefully into the pocket of their teal corduroys, probably one of the most ostentatious articles of clothing they own.
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dakota-vonnegut.
“Honestly? I never thought I’d see the day that I would have to try this hard to get someone to buy me a drink.” Finger trailing along the rim of an empty glass like she were trying to coerce more liquor to rise to the surface, Dakota craned her neck to peer across the bar, a default scowl set in place. “I mean, maybe I’m lucky. Maybe God’s up there watching out for me right now and all the people in here are unattractive, self-absorbed assholes. Unlikely, but a girl can dream.”
“Sorry, was there a particular strategy being implemented here, or? I mean, like, how is it that you’re trying to get someone to buy you a drink?” Wren typically doesn’t partake in alcohol themself, so they’re sat here with their virgin cocktail, wondering how in the world they managed to end up in this place, mulling over the intricacies of being picked up. It’s not like they’re going to go home with anyone. Their cat would miss them.
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clovercrickett.
“i can’t freakin’ believe this!” clover let out a groan, then proceeded to pick up her phone which was now shattered on the ground after colliding with someone. “i need to call my babsitter, frick. i just-” she paused, taking a deep breath. “sorry, i know this isn’t your fault or anything. i wasn’t really looking where i was going. this’ll teach me to dig in my purse and walk at the same time.”
“Um... That’s fine.” Wren is a little caught off-guard, and they clasp their hands together in front of them, watching as she picks her phone up off the ground. Their face has gone a little red, but otherwise they don’t physically show much of a disturbance. “Would you like to use mine?” It’s the least that they can offer when someone has need of contacting their babysitter, after all. That seems like sort of an urgent thing, and they wouldn’t want to be the reason she couldn’t. Reaching into their pocket, Wren retrieves their mobile and then they hold it out to her, not thinking more than once about it.
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marisxls.
“did you know that avril lavigne is dead? she’s been replaced by someone called marissa.. or maybe it’s melissa. i’m not sure.” trends, memes, all of that wasn’t something that marisol was familiar with—- for every little thing she was a good couple weeks behind. “maybe i’m the new avril, since marisol and melissa are pretty close together in terms of name. i don’t want skater boys though..”
“How did you know conspiracy theories about pop-punk artists are my niche?” The dry sarcasm is real, but it’s all in good fun, and they don’t actually mean anything by it. Twisting the ring they’ve got on repeatedly around their finger, they actually crack a smile at the other person at that last comment. “Wow. Excellent joke there. Very punny. I just can’t believe her legacy is always going to be Sk8er Boi when she had that really, truly iconic 2013 hit Hello Kitty. Talk about musical genius. The Beatles who?”
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illuminction.
“oh no,” she murmurs softly, voice pitched low enough not to be overheard while she fiddles with her hair. she had known this would happen – the intricate arrangement mariposa had meticulously styled for her was precarious at best. of course it would fall out with just one improper touch. rory can feel long locks of hair escaping their designated place on her head and even without sight, she knows she looks a mess. it isn’t that her appearance is all that important to her – it’d be hard to justify caring when she can’t visualize the results – but she knows her friend had her looking put together and poised; it seems rude to let that work go to waste. at the sound of what she presumes to be footsteps of someone approaching, rory pushes aside her embarrassment and gets to her feet, cane in hand. she hopes she’s talking to someone but it wouldn’t be the first time she’s addressed the air, either. “tell me – does my hair look as bad as it feels?”
Wren is awfully fond is the thing. So much so that as they approach her, they can’t help but allow such an expression to take over their features, no doubt evident to anyone else potentially in the vicinity even if she cannot witness it herself. Aurora is adorable, and she is not just Wren’s employee, but their friend as well, and they wouldn’t let her be self-conscious about her hair if they can at all help it. The rustling of their clothing can be heard, as well as the very slight drag of their feet (how they always walk; let it be known that they don’t move silently), and eventually the clearing of their throat as if the rest of it weren’t enough. She’ll be able to tell who they are just from that, though, which is an added bonus to their somewhat distinctive way of moving. “Looks a bit wild, but not bad. Want me to smooth it down for you? Or --- well, what are you going for here? Up or down?” They aren’t really sure since it seems to be in a sort of in-between state. Plus, it isn’t like they’re a hairdresser or something.
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illuminction.
the bell above the door has benji trained like some sort of psychological experiment. every time it rings, his head snaps to attention and a bright, albeit forced, smile splashes across his lips. “welcome to pink icing – where the pastries are sweet but the bakers are sweeter!” he thinks himself quite funny and the regulars he has entering the bakery with the sole intention of visiting with him boost that ego. his eyes land on a familiar figure and his head cocks to one side, smile going a bit crooked. he knows wren. wren is a certified expert in all things sweet and frequents the shop enough for benji to know just which sweets are their absolute favorite. not that the little witch doesn’t like to mix it up often, especially since benji likes to bake special things for them when he’s got the time. dusting flour off his hands and onto the apron draped in front of his thighs, benji drifts towards the display counter, leaning against it oh so casually with a popped hip and a deeply dimpled grin. “and what might tickle your fancy today, hm? got your eye on something delicious?”
‘Often’ would be an understatement for gauging the frequency of Wren’s little visits to this bakery. The fact it’s just down the street from their shop is probably something of a blessing and a curse; a blessing because they really, really love baked goods, and a curse because their bank account really, really does not love how much money they spend here. Oh well. It keeps them happy, and it keeps their munchies under control, and that’s really what matters when it all comes down to it, right? Right. There are other benefits to their occasionally bi-daily sets of ringing the bell above the door, of course, but that’s not something they’re particularly inclined to linger on at the moment. Their tummy is woefully empty, and their priority first and foremost --- aside from lighting the whole way up at Benji’s greeting, of course --- is filling it. “Don’t know yet, actually. I’ve been trying to work out what I want since I put my ‘out to lunch’ sign up at O’Shea’s, and I’m afraid I’m not any closer to the answer now than I was then. Which is why you need to tell me what it is that you’ve personally baked here today. It’s life or death. My hunger pains hang in the balance.”
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kndybrks.
“someone came in today talkin’ ‘bout imagine me and you – y’know that movie about the woman who’s gettin’ married to a man and then falls in love with a florist who’s a woman – that one. and they ask me what a lily means and i go, all sappy poetry shit, ‘they mean i dare you to love me’. and i swear on my gay ass, that was the gayest shit i’ve ever pulled. i got her number too, yo. shit was wild.”
“Do you think talking about that film was kind of fishing? I bet she walked by the shop a few times, scoped you out, worked herself up before she came inside. It happens.” Wren nods a little, nursing their tea between both of their hands, fingertips warm at the rim of their mug. They’re a little wistful, to be quite honest. They don’t really express themself with flirtation or, predominantly, with being flirted with, but it’s still nice to hear about. “Or so I hear.” They tack on a bit listlessly at the end, digging their teeth into the inside of their bottom lip, and bothering themself with a little smile on their features. Might as well.
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