A Piece of History: Awkward, Isn’t It?

     Did she ever shut up?

     The death mage regarded the woman seated across from him with an expression that would have perplexed the few who knew him. The irritation was, naturally, pure Jonas Foster. Indeed, Kyle had seen that vexed glare leveled at him many a times. The amusement it was tempered with was, however, wholly new. It occured to Jonas that she would talk this freely to anyone. It was alien to him, this open nature of hers, and kept him audience when he would have long ago left another person rambling in such a manner. Would she have even noticed if he left? The death mage entertained himself for a moment imagining her talking animatedly to an empty booth. He glanced at his watch, listening to her babble with half an ear, and noted with faintly raised eyebrows that nearly two hours had passed.

     When had he last lost track of time? It had been quite the enemy, hand in hand with mortality itself, since that June morning. Months… Had the demon mentioned months? Jonas could now only vaguely recall that conversation, so intent had he been on his studies. This white-haired woman, now gesturing wildly as she came to something of a point in her tale, had been his only distraction. Quite a distraction she was, as now her hair swung into the sunlight and blazed gold. Jonas frowned a bit, watching her. The woman’s voice fell on deaf ears as she smiled winningly at him and continued talking. She was nothing like Dia, that much was evident. Why then? Why?

     "…and that’s how I ended up with cat number five," Tamara finished laughingly. Reaching for the sugar, she stirred more into her cooling coffee, dark eyes shifting to regard Jonas. "Hello? Earth to Mr. Mysterious Guy." Whatever she took away from his expression, he wasn’t sure, but she laughed again and blushed faintly. "Well, what could I do? I couldn’t just leave the poor thing, could I?"

     He chose clearing his throat by way of answer, rather than admit he hadn’t heard half of what she said, and looked into his own pitch black coffee. Her hand appeared in his field of vision as she tipped creamer into the liquid. Startled, Jonas looked up to see her smiling brightly.

     "You know, you really ought to try a little sugar in your coffee. It sweetens the day. You know, start the day off with bright coffee and hope for a bright day!" Her utterly cheerful demeanor rasped something tender inside of him, and Jonas looked away. A frown furrowed his brow, and when he looked back at her, Tamara’s smile faded a bit.

     "Are you always this annoyingly happy?" The death mage couldn’t keep the snarl out of his voice, but he blinked when her white brows drew together in an icy glare.

     "This from the man who’s been watching me for how long now?!? Do I need to point out that you were the one watching me? I just thought that since you were so interested, and so obviously afraid to make a move, that I’d make things easier on you and come say hi! You know what? If you want to be such a jerk, then go be a jerk with someone else! This is the last time I decide to try and be nice!!!" The snarl in her voice echoed the snap of her dark eyes, and when she rose to her feet, her hair swung out with a blinding flourish.

     "Wait…"

     It was with surprise that Jonas heard his own voice, saw his own hand reaching out to catch her wrist. Tamara looked down at him, her dark eyes flashing, and met a bewildered look that softened her glare without her quite realizing why. The death mage swallowed, and forced himself to meet her eyes. Something in his mind was writhing, trying to surface, and he viciously pushed it down. Her arm was warm in his grip, and he couldn’t stop seeing the play of sunlight on her hair.

     "I’m sorry. Can… can we start over?"