Blessed are the vagrant, lonely are the static ones [closed]

[peacefulexplorer]

Loose change can only take one so far in terms of public transport and it's well past noon and Daniel hasn't even eaten today, so he elects to walk even if it is, as his luck would have it, raining very heavily. The present downpour is a great deal more copious than is fair considering the streak of abysmal events that have led him along to this unremarkable moment in his life.

In an effort to avoid the downpour he ducks into the closest establishment he can find, a cramped-looking café or deli sort of place that probably doesn't appreciate him dripping all over the faded blue tile floors and maneuvering awkwardly around the tables so he can get to the farthest, most out-of-the-way corner booth he can find. Shaking wet hair from his eyes, he shoves his two bags beneath it with less care than is really warranted. Both bags are already battered and falling apart at the corners enough, and they hold every possession Daniel has left in the world.

The sole barista at the counter doesn't look happy to (a) be maintaining an almost empty establishment on a spectacularly rainy late afternoon or (b) have to deal with the colony of puddles steadily collecting beneath Daniel's table as he hunches his shoulders and tries to count out his change to see if he has enough to avoid being thrown out for loitering. It's not looking optimistic. He wilts a little at the realization and shoots a nervous glance at the barista who has ceased her mechanical wiping of the countertop to level a simmering glower at him, fingers drumming, silently daring Daniel to think of a reason for why he should be the least bit welcome here. At the present moment, he's coming up empty. He swallows hard and returns to recounting his change in the blind hope that he's miscalculated.

Five minutes and seven recounts later, Daniel deposits the change onto the booth table with a shower of wet clinks and stares at the little pile of coins miserably. Ladies and gentlemen, we present to the board Dr. Daniel Jackson, thirty-one and already the archaeological hack of the decade, homeless and in debt and probably about to get thrown back out into the rain very soon on account of him being unable to afford even a cup of coffee to alleviate the pounding headache drilling itself into the center of his forehead.

Comments

[powerdealer]

It's impressive what a good business deal can do for your mood. Seth is still feeling particularly cheery from last night's success, and he had planned to spend today treating himself to a shopping trip, go looking for more music, maybe get himself a new leather jacket - this one is starting to look a bit rougher than he'd like. But then it had started raining, and Seth had ducked into this place and bought himself a late lunch.

He's on his third cup now - his first had been coffee but then he'd switched to tea since it looked like he'd be there a while, and there's a limit to how caffeinated you want to be - which he's been drinking very slowly, but tipping well to make up for it. Then again, it's not like the place is cramped and they'd want to shuffle him out to make room for new people. He's just been feeling particularly giving at the moment.

The door chimes and Seth looks up at the man stepping inside, a bit older than him, and looking a little like he swam here. It's not an unattractive look for him actually, though perhaps a little woeful. Seth watches curiously, noting the bags, and then the increasing desperation with which the man counts his change, then the following despair. He weirdly reminds Seth of an over-sized lost puppy.

Seth drains his cup and gets to his feet, strolling casually over to the man, and slipping into the booth across from him. "What're ya having?" he asks, leaned forward with his hands folded on the table in front of him, and with a smile that is perhaps a bit more cocky than it has any right being.