Tryle - only soulless people dislike ice cream

[Kyle Stockholm]

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Two thirteen in the afternoon on a Sunday and Kyle could find nothing better to do than go for an ice cream cone. Well, maybe just a bowl. He hadn't made up his mind yet whether he'd want a cone. That, of course, all depended on the flavor of the ice cream. And he had no idea as to which flavor he wanted yet. The shop was always getting in new flavors, so deciding right now without even knowing what they had seemed silly. In fact, this whole thought process seemed silly. Why was he worrying about cones when he didn't even know what flavor he was getting?

Shaking the thought from his head as he approached the front door, Kyle grabbed the old-fashioned-looking doorknob and pushed through to an immediate feeling of serenity. The place was set to look like an old house, and the entire theme was "home". In fact, this place felt more like home than his true home back in Ohio. It was warm inside, despite the bitter air outside and the giant buckets of ice cream sitting on one side of the room. Across from the ice cream tubs was a bar of chocolates, lined across the top with candy in jars for only a penny a piece. The floors were checkered and there were diner-like tables and chairs set up in a mismatched pattern. It just felt cozy, y'know? Kyle spent much of his time here. Whether or not he was actually ordering ice cream always depended on the day, and the owners had gotten used to him just sitting and enjoying the atmosphere. In fact, he was a regular. They even knew his name.

"What're you feeling today, Kyle?" a man greeted him from behind the counter, leaning over the glass case and resting his chin on his crossed arms. Kyle only shrugged, though, and smiled as he looked through the flavors.

"What's new?" he asked, running a finger over the stainless steel trim, feeling like a child with just enough money in his pocket for a scoop of his choosing.

The man nodded his head to the side and then back in thought before moving along the case, just as Kyle did. "Pistachio is new, and uh... we got Moose Tracks back. I believe there's a chocolate thingy.. like chocolate fudge brownie, or something?" He didn't seem very good at remembering the flavors they had in stock, which made Kyle chuckle.

"I'll just take mint chocolate chip," he said, still keeping his gaze on the ice cream. "In a cone."

The man smiled and tapped the top of the case before pushing back to grab a cone from the mountains behind him. The way they were stacked looked almost like a castle, each peak higher than the next and reaching up the wall to where the highest was almost touching the ceiling. "Not a fan of trying new things, huh Kyle?" the man asked, cone and scoop in hand as he reached under the glass case towards Kyle who had instinctively stopped in front of the mint ice cream.

"Huh?" Kyle looked up for the first time as if he'd snapped into reality.

"You get mint chocolate chip in a cone every time, man," the man said, laughing a bit under his breath as if this was a regular occurrence of 'forgetting'. Which it was, really. And it was true, Kyle did get mint chocolate chip in a cone every single time he came. Every single time. And, every single time, he forgot.

"No I don't! I get something different every time!"

Nodding and rolling his eyes where Kyle couldn't see, the man finished scooping Kyle's cone and and handed it to him over the top of the case. Settling his arms and chin again, he smiled at Kyle and cocked his head. "You're an interesting character, y'know?" he commented then pushed back like he'd done before, only this time headed to the cash register. Kyle was one step ahead, though, with a five dollar bill already out.

"Keep the change," he said quietly before running his tongue around the edge of the cone, catching a few stray drips, then turning to follow a sunken-in path to the back of the shop; his usual table.

[Trista Kline]

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Trista never really made it a habit of going out. The comfort of her dorm was all she ever wanted, because those four walls couldn’t judge her. Those walls kept the true monsters of society at bay- humans. Just because she wasn’t like everyone else, they labeled her different. But what was wrong with being different? What would life be like if there weren’t different colored crayons? No hues, no tones, not emotion. She was that rare colored crayon that you really didn’t need unless you had a specific use for it. It was just that no one needed her quite yet, and because of that she stayed in her box.

Occasionally the demons in her mind would drive her from the comfort of her abode and to the streets to mingle amongst the creatures of humanity. Not all humans were evil, but then they weren’t monsters. Her mother was a prime example, someone she dubbed an angel. She had though her true love was an angel, but he was merely a phony with a set of wings that broke her heart. But the past was the past, where all the demons went to wreak havoc amongst memories. In the silence of the night when she was alone, that’s when her mind would roam back to that awful place.

Finding this ice cream shop hadn’t been on purpose, and Trista couldn’t even remember exactly how she had arrived to her destination. Her eyes had been glued to the ground, only looking up occasionally when she needed to cross the street. Eye contact made her nervous, made her anxious. She couldn’t remember what had caused it, but a woman used to tell her it was because she had shut out those memories. The little girl she used to be was trapped somewhere inside her, but broken. Perhaps the little girl had shut herself out, stealing her voice in the process. Trista was a girl of little words, but a mind splashed in the most vibrant of colors when the demons left her.

The shop had drawn her in because something soothed her, like the feel of home. It was strange, because she wasn’t quite sure what home was anymore. She thought it was where she lived, but the little girl trapped inside her told her that home wasn’t safe. What defined a home? Loving parents before a shattered blur? She didn’t know if she could believe in home anymore, because she didn’t know where her heart was anymore. Was home someplace surrounded by walls, or was it someone that made you feel complete, made you feel human?

Trista had ordered her ice cream with few words, only pointing at the plain vanilla and nodding at the person behind the counter. She paid with a few bills in her pocket without making too much eye contact. She had always ordered eye cream the same, in a bowl and always vanilla. A faint memory of melting ice cream against her hand had always filled her with a sense of dread, something she hated. She found her own little corner of the place and situated herself. Her journal was placed in front of her and the ice cream next to the leather bound book. Did she look out of place? Sometimes she felt like she faded into the background like a ghost.

She looked up to take in the figure of a boy who looked peculiar and familiar. She’d seen him before, perhaps about school. She remembered him acting as he wished, seemingly fearless. She perceived him as a lion that wasn’t afraid to roar in the silence of the night-her silence. With nimble fingers, she opened her journal and quickly sketched him out. Green eyes flickered from the paper to the boy and back. With a basic figure and facial features she went to work. As he paid she made sure not to look at him too much, not wanting to draw attention to herself. With that she became consumed in her work forgetting the frozen dessert in front of her. Underneath her graceful hands and manufactured graphite, he came to life.

[Kyle Stockholm]

Now seated and comfortable, his back against the curved wood and his shoulders slumped forward, Kyle looked down at his ice cream. It was melting rather quickly; the heat was up a bit more than usual. It didn't really bother him, though, it just meant a little extra work would come with eating this and not getting it all over his shirt. But honestly, he'd probably get most of it on his shirt. With that in mind, Kyle reached a hand forward to the fifties-looking napkin holder, grabbed about four (because they were thin), and shoved their corners into the collar of his tee shirt. Smiling at how creative he clearly was, Kyle dipped his head forward and stuck his tongue out to catch another drip before sticking the top swirl of the frosty treat into his mouth. He bit it, but with his lips, leaving them a faint shade of a soft green, a few bits of chocolate chip creeping out the corner of his mouth. He chuckled under his breath and watched a drip drop from the cone to the floor. Shrugging at that, he looked up and caught site of thick white-blonde hair moving slow and low across a sort of book.

Was she drawing?

No, the better question was what was she drawing? Immediately, Kyle's attention had moved from his ice cream to this girl. Judging just from the top of her head, he'd never seen her before. Not here, anyway. Not in this ice cream shop. And he would know, he was a regular. She clearly wasn't, and naturally, that peaked his interest.

Craning his neck a bit, Kyle tried to see what she was drawing. Of course, she was pretty far away so there was no way he could see from his seated position. And though Kyle was usually one to just get up and go, he actually, amazingly, kept himself under control and stayed seated. It took a lot to not go and ask what she was doing, what she was drawing, what her name was, where she came from. It took a lot. So much that it practically wore through the clonidine patch and he felt his hands reaching to his jaw where his fingers left small red trails of irritated skin.

Looking away from her quite suddenly in fear that she might look up and see him, Kyle dropped the hand that had crawled to his cheek and took another lip-bite of his ice cream. Sneaking eyes looked back carefully, only to find her look up at him for a split second.

Was she drawing him?

Look away.

Now look back...




Look away.

[Trista Kline]

Trista was now consumed in her work. Work. That wasn’t really the proper term for it. Work made it seem like it was a task that required effort. The way her pencil moved across the page was effortless, almost natural. As the figure came to life the music in her head became a little more vibrant. But in the silence of the shop, she sat there. She didn’t even look up at the boy now, he features imprinted in her mind. It was like she could physically touch the landscapes of his face, the emotion behind those eyes. Her breathing was silent, and occasionally the sound of graphite creating art could be heard.

The soft tune in her head blocked out everything. There was nothing but the lion man and the beating of her heart. The boy who sat hunched over slightly had faded to the back on her journal’s canvas. But his eyes were something fierce, not his, but his all at the same. Behind him was a lion, standing proud. This lion had the same eyes, eyes that had a story for the world. Eyes.

Her own weren’t vibrant, only in color perhaps. They knew something that she didn’t even know. The eyes of the child trapped inside of her. Eyes that knew the truth and had stared the demons down. She paid no mind to the ice cream that appeared to be melting beside her. It didn’t matter now, not in proportion to the lion man before her. She wondered what it would be like to be a lioness and not a lamb, but that’s what she was. Voiceless without even the flight of a gazelle. In the pecking order of the world, she was nothing.

But this was her escape. When she used her journal everything seemed to disappear and the music of her mind would lull her to never land. She wondered about things though, like the man before her. What was his story, his tale, his lasting legacy? What was his voice like? She didn’t mean physically, but emotionally and mentally. Her voice was almost nonexistent, and she couldn’t speak up for herself. In a sense, she was helpless. But to her, she was the only sane one among monsters.

Looking down at her paper, the lion and the man were finished. She gazed down at her own paper, the eyes captivated her. She was quite pleased with the product and finally glanced up to see the model of her work. It was then that green eyes met his. She froze stalk still, muscles not sure what to do. The pencil in her hand threatened to fall from her grasp at any moment. His eyes, they were beautiful, and said so much. Without any emotions upon her face, her eyes quickly flickered back to her work as she tried to hide within herself. She took her ice cream in her hands, noticing its melted state. Not knowing what else to do, she tried eating it, half melted and everything. She hadn’t meant to be rude, and she wondered if he had listened to her eyes as much as she had listened to his.

[Kyle Stockholm]

Kyle noticed when she looked away, and did the same. But something drew him back, and when his eyes took their time trailing the table, the floor, up the leg of her table and then to her forehead, he was relieved to see that she was no longer looking. Only now she was ladling a very soupy mouthful of ice cream to her lips. He snorted at that, but then was suddenly aware of the ice cream dripping down over his hand. Had he been breathing on it? It had melted rather quickly. Regardless, he took another bite as he thought about the situation at hand.

There were two clear options: he could sit here and pretend the awkward eye-off hadn't happened or he could go over than and make it very clear that the awkward eye-off had happened. Deciding which to choose was proving difficult and sending him into a fit of tics, his toes tapping rhythmically on the tiled floor and the fingers on his left hand drumming over his kneecap. Within five minutes he'd practically chewed a hole through his lower lip and his eyes had moved from a blank stare at the wall to a blank stare at his wrist. And frankly, he'd forgotten what he'd been so worked up over. Lifting his head, his mind was brought back to speed when his eyes locked onto the girl again.

Right.

Setting his cone on the table and making sure it was balanced enough to stand on its own, Kyle stood from the table and grabbed a wad of napkins, running it through his fingers to rid himself of the sticky green mess the ice cream had left behind. Kyle didn't recall making a decision about what to do with this whole situation, but before he had time to think, his feet were carrying him in the direction of the girl. She was still eating her ice cream when he approached and took a seat. Leaning forward a bit and resting his elbows on the table, Kyle smiled and calmed his bouncing legs, nodding his head down a bit to see into her eyes. But she was avoiding him.

"Hey," he said softly, a flat tone almost. "I was just uh.. I dunno, you seemed.. lonely? And I was, over there. Lonely, I mean. Sitting there, by myself. Like.. you?" That was a swing and a miss at a suave hello. But honestly, Kyle still had no idea how he'd even gotten to her side. Blinking in his life usually led to some colossal step forward that he'd fallen asleep during. It was like every time he closed his eyes, he left reality. A blink sent him dreaming, his mind whizzing and whirring within the split second he'd unconsciously cut himself off from the rest of the world. Open again, he'd try to catch up but never fully could. Impulsiveness explained in a few words, he supposed. Or insanity.

"My ice cream melted, too," he tried adding on, pointing a thumb back over his shoulder at where he'd been sitting, his ever so sad looking ice cream cone still where he'd left it. "I.. yours looks pretty bad, though... wow did you draw that? That's really something." Was he being nosy? Yes. Quite. But he was really just so interested to see what she'd been doing. Sneaking glances and then burying her face back into the pages of a journal. He hadn't had the proper amount of time to look into her eyes before coming over here, which he was kicking himself for, but at least now he could get a closer look. Maybe.

"I'm Kyle, by the way,"

[Trista Kline]

Trista spent a lot of her time watching people, sketching them. More times than not she’d personify them into the monsters she deemed fit. Some of them would gain animal representations like the lion man before her. It was useless to lap at her now melted dairy dessert, but instead of setting it down on the table, she held it in her hands. She looked down at the puddle she currently had cradled in her hands with a blank expression. She had somehow managed to ruin something that was supposed to be easily enjoyed, but instead it would never be the same. How long has she been drawing him?

Trista had a tendency to space out while sketching, never even thinking even someone minded. But why would they? It wasn’t like they noticed in the first place, right? She was merely a fly upon the wall, unnoticed by the world. She could feel his gaze on her or somewhere around her. Was the lion man judging her? Surely the lion wasn’t like the rest of the hyenas. No, he couldn’t be. He had the brightest of manes in the washed out canvas of their school.

Perhaps she should just leave? But where was she supposed to go? Green eyes looked toward the window briefly as though trying to spark a memory of how she had arrived at the ice cream shop. Should she gather her items and go, without a word? In the presence of a lion, does the lamb run? The movement in the corner of her eye had her stilling, like the prey in the company of the predator. Her breathing slowed as she tried to use her other senses to get a feel for her surroundings. The sound of napkins against skin, shoes tapping against the tiled floor. He was approaching.

Her muscled tensed slightly as she braced herself for the unknown. It’s what made human so terrifying- the inability to predict their actions. It took her a moment to fully accept the fact that he was in fact sitting before her. He felt like royalty, and she feared that if she didn’t bow low enough he’d end her. Her shoulders hunched a degree more and her legs curled before her under the chair. He was leaning towards her, and she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to increase the distance between them but she didn’t. Her breathing was silent, and the only evidence that her lungs were even working was the slight rise and fall of her chest.

She blinked at the sound of his voice. It wasn’t what she expected, but what had she been preparing herself for? The mighty roar of a lion? His voice was pleasant on the ears, and she concentrated on every syllable he spoke. She looked lonely? She didn’t feel lonely. She didn’t feel a longing for something or someone; she didn’t really feel a lot of things to begin with. She didn’t usually have a lot of company, so the lack of wasn’t really noticeable. Had he been lonely too? Surely a lion never got lonely when surrounded by his pride of lionesses. Hadn’t he been one with the ladies?

Her ice cream did indeed look sad, and she glanced down at it again in her hands. She finally decided to set it down on the table a safe distance away from her journal. There was a slight tug at the corner of her lips at the mention of her art being somewhat decent. She prided herself on it, of all things. It kept the demons quiet and her memories at bay. She tried to dodge his eyes and he seemed to be looking at her, but when he introduced himself she froze. The lion man now had a name- Kyle. It was so simple, so fitting. With nimble fingers she wrote neatly out in script his name below the title of the work “Lion Man”.

She sat there for a moment, pencil still in her hand. She pushed the journal toward him, allowing him to view her interpretation of him. Was the picture alive in his mind like it was in hers? Looking at her own work she started to relax. He posed no threat, and she felt safe. “I’m…” she started, not sure whether or not to reveal her name. She fidgeted slightly in her chair before closing her eyes. The lion man wasn’t a monster; his eyes told her beautiful stories. “I’m Trista,” she said softly looking up, finally allowing green eyes to make contact with his. She didn’t look away, and though she shifted her weight uncomfortably in her chair she held her ground. She didn’t like eye contact, because she didn’t like people knowing her story. But sitting before her was someone whose eyes told her to trust him. Her name was her identity, and with that came knowing her story. “I’m sorry for drawing you.”

[Kyle Stockholm]

Kyle tilted his head to the side a bit when she pushed the journal towards him and smiled. It was a very accurate depiction of him; that made him happy. Kyle had never thought anyone would really spend that much time looking at him. Sure he had this reputation back at school, the kind that made girls a little more friendly towards him and guys a little more jealous. But that wasn't the same. He could get all the girls at any time whenever he wanted, all he had to do was ask and they were there. But did they care about him? Did they really take the time to stop and look at him? To look so deeply that they even catch the way his right eyebrow was a bit thinner than the left, and how his left eye squinted just a bit more than the right? Did they focus so hard and have such patience to sit and watch him, following his eyes to get each one so perfectly shaded, even when he hadn't been looking at them the whole time? No. Not ever. And not even just to compare to the way she'd used him as a model.

No one ever cared.

He wasn't even sure this girl cared. As far as Kyle knew so far, he was just a 'pretty face' to her. And at first it kind of hurt, or numbed him, really, as he'd grown to repel the pain of judgmental eyes. But when she said her name and looked up, it was like everything changed.

From the minute he'd started speaking to her, Kyle had been building a wall. He'd learned over the years to do that: build a wall, cut off feelings. Never connect, because they're not going to bother to connect to you. I guess, sort of, that's how he'd been so good at making 'friends'. Build enough walls and in the end nothing even matters anymore. There's no room for fear, pain, love, happiness... And he was fine with that. But the minute she looked into his eyes, the minute she shared her name and the soul behind the green, the wall was gone. This was certainly different. And he honestly wasn't sure how he felt about it. When was the last time he'd been so vulnerable? When was the last time he'd given time to connect on a level deeper than the seem of his pants?

He couldn't remember.

Turning to look at her, Kyle smiled. "That's a nice name," he said softly, looking back at the drawing. "Don't be sorry, I'm flattered," he added when she apologized for the artwork. "You have quite a gift. Don't apologize for it." Eyes back on her, Kyle offered a warm smile, a closed smile, but looked away when his head jerked to the left. Here he was, trying to be some cool, charming guy complimenting a very closed off girl, and he couldn't even handle that. So he looked away.

[Trista Kline]

Was it strange that she’d put so much detail in this. It wasn’t even the lion that she’d spent time on, but his actual facial features. She’d spent so much time detailing the lines on his face, to the soft curve of his features. She just didn’t want to get them wrong; she didn’t want to get him wrong. She’d never spent so much time and detail on someone. Usually she’d do simple sketches with enough features to just make it recognizable. Most of her drawings turned dark though, and the monsters came to life. But not this time. When she started drawing him the colors were vibrant in her mind, and her focus was clear. The demons stayed quiet as thought pleased with her chosen mark.

She had one hand placed in her lap and the other across her chest grabbing her elbow. She didn’t know what to do with herself during an actual conversation. Things like this didn’t normally happen. People didn’t interact with her, they bullied her. Judged her, or made her feel inferior. With Kyle, she didn’t quite feel his equal. He was far greater then she’d ever be, but he made her feel human. He had simply acknowledged her existence, and that was enough. He could walk away now, and she’d fall asleep a little easier.

Trista hadn’t even thought of the possibility of him just using her, maybe for quick fun. And as awful as it sounded, the thought of just having a purpose as simple as that was welcomed. She just wanted to feel human, or to feel at all. But she knew within minutes of the conversation starting he’d probably be too weirded out to even ponder the possibility of taking her to bed. She liked his eyes, and she wanted to know their story. But a part of her knew that to know his story meant him learning hers. Was she ready for that? The lost little girl inside her didn’t know. What about all the things she forced herself to forget?

She blinked for a moment when he complimented her name. She’d never received something like that. She tilted her head slightly to the side slightly. “Thank you,” she said, eyes softening slightly. She wasn’t good at showing her expressions, she never really had to. It had been so long since she’d genuinely smiled, but he made her want to try. A gift? She looked down at her work taking it all in. Was it really a gift? She’d never thought about it that way. As she looked from her art back to him she noticed a small detail she’d missed. Quickly her pencil was at work and a small shading difference brought his eyes back to life. From a distance she hadn’t caught it, but now sitting in front of him, it was clear.

His smile was nice, and his movements looked like they weren’t his own. Perhaps that’s where his demons were. Her eyes studied his movements, took him in. He was human and perfectly imperfect. When he looked away she couldn’t help but look at her own lap. Maybe she was being too awkward. “I’m sorry,” she apologized again,” I’m not good at these kinds of things.” Sad eyes stared at her journal. “I don’t have a lot of people to talk to,” she spoke softly, only audible to the two,” you’re the first person to introduce yourself.” He’d probably heard her speak more words in a minute than anyone else had in years. She looked up at him though, the lion man was making her brave

[Kyle Stockholm]

Kyle snorted when she was apologizing. He thought he should be the one apologizing, and he wasn't sure why, really. "Its fine," he said sort of absentmindedly, still looking away from her out of embarrassment. He wasn't at all sure where the tics were coming from; his patch was fine. As much as he'd broken past it earlier sitting back at his own table, he was calm now. He was, or should have been, under control. Her next words took him a bit off guard, though, and he quickly turned his face back to her, a sad smile trailing his lips. "I don't have too many people to talk to either," he said gently, probably the most sincere sounding thing he'd said so far. Everything else was just banter, a good way of getting to know her and breaking her out of her shell. But now that he'd chiseled in, he found himself cracking right along beside her.

"You uh.. you want another ice cream?" he asked a bit randomly, looking down at her now soup and then looking back his cone which had fallen over and left a small puddle on the table. He certainly wanted more, he'd barely had any of his. And after looking to the man behind the counter (who looked about ready to fall asleep, leaning back against the bar with his arms folded across his chest and his head tipped back), Kyle was certain he was going to be buying another cone. "You didn't really get to eat yours and its sorta by fault," he chuckled a bit, pointing at the drawing of him sitting on the table.

But that really wasn't why he wanted to get her another ice cream. It just felt right. Within the last few minutes, Kyle had formed a bond. There weren't many people (other than Rory and maybe Gillian) that he could talk to and feel real around. He didn't have to be the clown or the crazy kid that did what he wanted when he wanted. He didn't have to fake for attention, even if 'faking' had become 'real' over the years. He could be his genuine self with this girl, and he was realizing that after just a few minutes. That was something worth keeping, and something worth thanking her for. And for now, ice cream was the best subtle 'thank you' he could come up with.

"I'll buy it for you," Kyle added, standing from his chair. He didn't mean to seem pushy about this ice cream, but he'd honestly stood involuntarily. Another tic. One he didn't mind, though, seeing as it was only helping the situation. But just as quickly as he'd thought it was fine, it was quite suddenly proving him wrong when he felt his left arm inch up towards his side and then his shoulder. Kyle took that as a cue to go get the ice cream. Don't stand around where she could notice it. Don't stand around where anyone could notice it. Play it off. Just like always.

Be cool.

[Trista Kline]

Trista didn’t know what the term friend truly meant, but it was the only thing she could use to describe Kyle. She didn’t have any ‘friends’ and maybe she wasn’t even using it in the correct context. But something inside of her said to trust him. She’d always relied on her gut feelings, trusting nothing else, because at the end of the day all she had was her mind. Her brow furrowed only the slightest amount when he said he didn’t have many people to talk to. The lion before her, with eyes that roared, didn’t have many people to talk to? In a way it made sense, because lions only surrounded themselves with lionesses. Trista found that she liked the way he spoke; the tone was calming to her ears. Her body naturally leaned in to listen, because something inside said what he said was worth listening to.

She had forgotten about her eye cream til green eyes flickered to the puddle inside the bowl. She’d been so consumed by him and her journal that the sweet had become nothing but a waste. “I… uhh.” She struggled to find her words as she blinked,” sure.” She didn’t want to be rude and turn it town, because honestly she hadn’t been able to enjoy her treat. But it was strange, meeting someone for the first time and feeling at peace. His eyes didn’t judge her, didn’t hold hurtful words. They were beautiful. Another pull from the corner of her lips as he motioned the drawing. It had been worth it, and now she had something to have forever. It would remind her that not all people are monsters, because there were angels among them.

Trista watched as he stood in his chair, the movement didn’t seem fluid. “You don’t have to,” she tried to say but he had already turned. It wasn’t until he started to walk away the she felt the need to rise from her chair. Just the vision of him walking away was enough to have her follow. It was strange, but she didn’t want to be left alone at the table. She tried not to analyze his movement too much, but the occasional glance was informative. She’d spent all of her time alone, and that meant watching people- watching monsters. The quick jerks that looked involuntary were the work of demons. She could almost envision tiny strings attached to him limbs at the mercy of a demon puppeteer.

She eyed the ice cream selection from a slightly bent position, a blank expression in place. “I’ve always ordered the same thing,” she said looking past her reflection on the glass to the various colors. Occasionally she’d glance back at his old table to see the green puddle on the table. She’d never seen something like that, and wondered if it was some strange salad flavor. “I’m just not sure what to get,” she said puzzled, hands on her knees as she continued to ponder the selection. From her bent down position to look up at him,” I’ll get whatever you get.” It was trust, just her odd way of showing it.