Be Afraid (Open)

[Atticus Baker]

Atticus hated the smell of cinnamon. Personally it was too sweet and the scent of it made the teens stomach turn. Back home there was a cinnamon kiosk and in that kiosk was an older women who always loved to chat with mother. The teen always remembered her at the scent of cinnamon and how she always bothered him about being a "shy little guy" Atticus stood at six foot even and he still was that shy little guy that he has always been. Upon entering the establishment he made effort to find the perfect seat. Tables brought too much attention  as did the counter if their was one. A booth was the ideal seat of course. Where the booth was located mattered as well... Back against the wall allowed him to watch everyone's movement and keep track of people coming close so they wouldn't startle him. Sadly the perfect booth was taken and the boy had to settle into a booth next to the wall where he kept looking over his shoulder and picking at his nails in between checking his phone for text.

WHERE ARE YOU?- Atticus Cell

I CANT ORDER FOR MYSELF! PLEASE HURRY!- Atticus Cell

Phone is dieing! I will be their once it's half way done. Chill.. You can just sit there if you want.- Helen Cell

His eyebrows scrunched together in shock and annoyance. How could his sister do such a thing? Leave him to order for himself at a place he never had been at before. The sting of his bleeding finger tips brought momentary distraction for the already anxious young man. The idea of leaving had entered his mind and Atticus even stood up from his seat for a minute before planting his buttocks back down. That simply couldn't be done, too many eyes watching him and probably wondering what the hell he was doing, maybe even judging him for his lack of car for his fingers? Of course it was about his fingers... And the idea of people noticing him made the biting and chewing even more worse. While gnawing on the edge of his thumb near the nail until it bled his dark eyes looked out the window with a sigh. It helped to distract from The thought of ordering his food. Having to talk to strangers was never one of his strengths in fact it was very much a weakness. The boy adorned in sweatpants and a Ohio state shirts sat awaiting what he could only imagine to be the death of him.. The Waitress or Waiter.

[Jacob Adams]

”... then you tell him if I see his rotten face in there again I'll grab one of those glowsticks and introduce it to a part of his body that hasn't seen light for a very long time! You don't treat people that way. Yes, Frankie, you're people.” Not only did he throw the door wide open as he entered, he didn't very much bother to lower his voice, either. Being a stripper at a club that hired 19 year olds apparently meant he had to play angry pimp-mom to boys that were, at least on paper, older than himself. He'd worked all night, only to be introduced to yet another abusive client just as he got off of work. So no, he didn't have the common curtesy to spare the rest of the place of the drama. He walked right past Atticus's table at first, but made a dramatic halt, backing slightly, looking at his hands. ”You okay? You look like shit. Is that blood?” obviously having forgotten all about his phone conversation, he turned swiftly, going back yet a few steps to collect a heap of napkins before going back to the table. He poked a waiter on the way there to ask for two double espressos and water, thinking the kid might need the coffeine. Even though he seemed more like the kind to drink hot choco. The water was just a standard reaction to seeing someone that looked kind of like they were coming down from some kind of drug-induced psychosis. He didn't seem quite ragged enough, but you never knew. 

As he returned, he dropped down on the opposite side of the table of the stranger, looking him over for less than a second before realising he'd forgotten something. ”Shit, sorry, Frankie. Look I gotta go, but stay away from assholes until I get back, alright?” he said, not really bothering to wait for an answer before hanging up and turning his attention back to the new found focus of his concern. ”I'm Jake. You need some help?” he asked, holding the napkins out in front of the stranger, offering a small, slightly weary smile as he attempted to chill down slighty. Geez, where was that coffee?

[Atticus Baker]

Could this stranger be talking to him? Atticus wondered if simply ignoring the question would make him go away. His nails did sting and were in fact bleeding but that wasn't any of Jacobs concern so why make Atticus go through the struggle. Sure it was somewhat kind in a way but Atticus didn't like talking to new people.. Mostly because of the past experiences in trying to make friends being huge fails. "Yes it is blood. I'm bleeding from my fingertips" Atticus stated the obvious. Pulling his finger tips into fist and placing his fist together in a non violent manner in front of him holding his own hands. 

A sigh escaped through his lips once his eyes watched the stranger ask the waiter to bring a drink, two drinks to be exact, why? This stranger couldn't possibly be ordering one for him so who else would be joining them.'The mere thought of another person joining that he didn't know combined with the worry over this man who is apparently named Jake's intentions. "I'm Atticus Romeo Baker." By this time his lips had began to quiver and the picking his nails continued while he tried to figure out the right choice. It may have been strange to stare when someone offered assistance but Atticus wasn't feeling better with the man here then he did when he was not. Atticus took the napkin and placed it on his bleeding finger tips that were now out of his mouth and covered with the napkin. He gave a nod and finally mumbled. "Order for me." 

[Jacob Adams]

He was starting to catch on. He met people like this on a regular basis. Of course, he didn't know shit about the clinical term behind the behaviour, but the behaviour itself was not uncommon amongst his Johns. From shy to socially terrified, and everything in between. Maaan, was he not prepared for this now. He'd just come from work, he hadn't slept for ages. Typical him to approach the one person in the room who was so opposite himself that his head exploded simply from trying to picture what a normal day in his life would be like. Still, Jake always loved a challenge.

He leaned back slightly when Atticus took the napkin, willing himself to mentally back off a bit while trying to remember how he'd handled similar people in the past. This was nothing but an act now, it had to be. If past experience was to be trusted, going full-blown Jake on this kid wasn't gonna work out, at least not until the initial anxiety had subsided somewhat. Why was he even doing this, again? He could just walk away. Then again, he'd rather go home with a migraine from overthinking his every move, than sit there alone with his stupid coffee. And, truth be told, did anyone else in here look more interesting? He nodded when he introduced himself, keeping a smile on his face while fighting the urge to blurt out something suggestive. This was not the time. He could hit on someone on the way out later, to get it out of his system. The staring didn't appear to bother him very much; in fact, he was tired enough that sitting there in silence being stared at for an hour wouldn't be the worst idea ever. He remained silent until the kid spoke again, giving it an extra moment before he answered. “I can do that. Did you decide what you want yet?” he made a concious decision not to hide his stupid Mississippi dialect this time, thinking it might help take some of the focus off of the situation he'd put the poor kid in. Of course, it may as well freak him out more. At the same time, he had to will himself to speak slower than usual in an attempt to generally slow himself down. Still, he seemed glad about the answer, happy if he could at least be of some help.

[Atticus Baker]

Atticus watched him. Jake was kind of cute and that made it hard to remember to speak. What could he speak about? He didn't know this stranger and coming up with topics of discussion was never something Atticus was good at. His dark eyes looked at the napkin that got patched with red from the blood near his nails. The pain helped the situation immensely. The chewing would of course be a stopped but the picking helped work as a distraction for the teen. "Are you a actor? You seem attractive enough to be one." He asked without much hint of enthusiasm and only curiosity in his voice. The shy and near quiet tone he spoke in so not to attract anyone else's attention. The question made sense once he narrowed down the reasons why this Jake could be talking to him: He was a pervert, He was an actor wanting work maybe or he was genuinely trying to be a good citizen. 

"Your accent.. It's not from here and it's certainly not Ohio where I'm from. Where are you from?" He asked Jake. Feeling s little more relaxed with being the one asking the questions and not answering. Multiple choice questions were the worst and he was grateful that he didn't have to answer anything yet besides the few this man asked. Still.. He kept his shoes rubbing together as he came up with an answer. "I didn't want to ask for a menu. I-I really don't like meeting new people.. Or ordering for myself or correcting a wrong order.." The list could of been longer but he decided to stop short 

[Jacob Adams]

He had to fight the urge to grab the poor kids hands in order to make him stop hurting himself. That kind of behaviour had gotten him slapped before. Instead, he tried to be thankful he'd at least taken the napkins, while making an effort not to focus on his hands, focusing instead in his face as he spoke. Being called attractive made him want to break out in a loud 'awwww', but, much like any other impulse he'd had during this conversation, he muffled himself a bit, letting his face turn into a huge smile instead while taking the chance to give the guy a break by looking down at the table for a few moments, as if the compliment made him blush. Few things actually made him blush anymore, but it was a handy trick. “No, but I suppose it's never too late to try.” he answered, a mix of irony and joyful hopefulness in his voice. He'd been in movies, sure, but probably not the kind the guy was talking about, and definitely nothing that would intimidate him less at this point, probably.

“I'm from Mississippi. But I'm not that proud of it, I promise.” he answered as a way of distancing himself from the stereotype he liked to enforce any chance he got, namely that all Mississippians where bigotted assholes. “Jackson is the closest real place close to my hometown. Imagine a town built around a church with a population of two cows per human.” That oughta create the kind of picture he was going for. Man, was he not homesick at all.

He nodded at the explanation, several memories of being clients social crutch came to mind. This wasn't exactly the same. For one, he wasn't gonna get paid. Probably wasn't going to get laid, either. At least he'd be getting coffee. That he'd be paying for. Was this what they meant by 'loosing ones touch'? Oh well. “Then I'm sorry for my dramatic entrance, although I'm glad to tell you, I love meeting new people, and making orders, and enforcing them when people get them wrong. I'm on it.” He didn't look very sorry, to be honest. Still, his intentions hadn't been to freak the guy out. He got up, giving the other man a smile before walking over to the counter and asking for menues, picking up a tray with his previous order as he did so. When returning, he set the tray down on the middle of the table, setting the second coffee and the water out in front of the other man to point out it was for him. “If you don't want it, that's okay. Quadriple espressos are part of a balanced breakfast for me.” he remarked happily, before reaching for his own coffee, taking several big gulps of it before setting it back down in front of him.