Mortierre Bellamont

"Its like they say on the radio, we'd like to change things..."

*The van door slides open*

I walk out into the rain and see the cafe sign glowing brightly in the darkened street. I look back at the driver and he motions me to just go inside. I walk in and take a seat. I take my phone and to no surprise its dead.






*EDIT*
((OOC: Didn't know what to put down here so I thought I give it an open RP setup to see where it can go. Love the Idea behind the Rain Dogs. Planning on pre-ordering the game this week))

(Hrm, presenting a pencil-drafted canvas rather than a finished painting. A great introduction, I'd love to hear more from you.)

“Hey,” she watched the man push his way through the glass door, his manner looking unsure. Watched as he slumped himself into one of the restoration antiques by the window without falsifying any hesitation. As he pulled his cell phone and frowned some disappointed look at it. “Hey, you’ve got to buy something, sir.” She was a sprite, tuck behind the darkish, wood-ish counter, surrounded by stainless-steel machines and ceramic carafes. A burgundy baseball cap read “Espresso Royale” in a sort of baseball-jersey script and matted fiery orange hair down onto her forehead.

Adopting a small grin that was just a bit crooked, and too wide for her impish small face, she saw that had had not heard her, or was not listening. A cup in hand, she released a valve on the most recently brewed, and brought it to him. “Hey. We get robbed too often t’uh let people sit here without drinks. S’on me, yeah?”

Robbed eh. *takes the cup of Joe* Cant imagine anyone coming all the way out here for money. Seems like this towns been sucked dry already by its mayor and her security act anyway. *Mortierre takes a sip of the coffee and exhales deeply* So whats your story if I may be so bold to ask? Workin in this cafe spot here in town cant be to rewarding and it doesn't look like you have to much clientele. Tell you what though, I'll order me up some food for two if you don't mind shootin the breeze. *Mortierre grins slightly as the scar on his cheek now makes its self painfully apparent* Oh and by the way the names Mortierre.

((Sorry if I sound a bit amateur. I never really forum RP'ed before but I played WoW on an RP server (Emerald Dream) and am part of a great RP guild known as the Kingship Of the East. So I'm not new to it just trying to test the waters on what I can do.))

(Not amateur at all. Loving it thusfar!)

“Sarah,” she chirped, lying. It was conspicuously barren – a familiar sight to the girl, save the morning rush of those too busy to make coffee, too chic to make it drip, too boho to grind beans. A firing squad of derelict storefronts escorted the café down the two-lane gutter, and it seemed like only a short fall from nailing up the windows itself.

…Or so it damn well seemed.

“We’ve got really good pie,” she grinned back at him, letting her greenish stare hang before turning back toward the counter. Shredded orange high-tops squeaked against the floor. The noise almost drowned out wiry piano music lilting through the ceiling. Were there even apartments up there?

It was roundabout ten at night, and the menu was nothing but fridge-kept pastries. She coughed into her sleeve, and reached for a plate, moving toward the refrigerator.

“So, my story,” she returned, placing the plate in front of him, it now supporting a flaky brown crust that had been stabbed with a spoon and which was slowly leaking some dark berry. To her credit, it was good pie. The girl sat herself down on a matching antique, levitating with her hands on the armrests for a moment so that she could tuck her feet under the rest of her and slowly ruin the upholstery. Glasses had somehow found their way to the ridge of her nose – that Wayfarer style in tortoiseshell that had somehow remained popular for too long. They aged her unnaturally and cast glaring anti-shadows onto the high, freckled swell of her cheeks.

“I know the owner, here,” that was true, but in a weird kind of ugly way that the sentence’s simplicity kept hidden. “I’ve been working here for,” she put on a face like she was looking into a real past, “for a little under two years. It’ll be two come fall.” She leaned back, looking out the window briefly, catching nothing but a slow-moving sedan on the glistening road. “I got it, the job, when I started school over at CSU over in the Martins borough.” She met his eyes again, and thought dryly on his comment about the city. “You’re not from the area, are you?”