Joie de Vivre || City Cafe

[Wishfully]

A 1x1 roleplay for TheHarlequinnCat and MidnightAnew. This RP is centered around several different people who lead separate lives but cross paths and build relationships due to their interactions at a particular cafe.

 

[Wishfully]

James Rossbach coughed when he woke up. He shivered as he turned his head and noticed the blanket was mostly piled on the empty side of the king-sized bed- the side that had been empty for years now. That was the worst part. He could live with the nightmares- the images of wounded soldiers and haunted faces, the sounds of explosions and dreadful gunshots, but the emptiness he felt without his wife…it was his inevitable morning greeting that cursed almost every day to be a lonely one from the start.


“Darlene!” the man called for his housekeeper/assistant. The woman was a little younger than he was, which was a good thing since his health was far worse than it should be for a man his age. Darlene helped offered him a warm robe, but he waved his hand.


“I want to go to the café this morning,” he replied. “Some fresh air oughta do me good.”


“Mr. Jim, do you want me to go with you?” the housekeeper asked after she had helped him get ready to go out. Mr. Jim shook his head.


“I’ll be fine, thank you.” With that, he wheeled down the ramp and onto the sidewalk. The café wasn’t far at all, and he knew the path well. He passed a young woman carrying some boxes.


“Good morning,” he said. The girl seemed startled at the voice but quickly smiled when she noticed someone there.


“Oh, hello! Good morning to you too!” she smiled cheerfully as she balanced the boxes with her right knee.


“Are you okay there? Looks like you’ve got a heavy load,” Mr. Jim commented.


“Oh, I’m fine. I just moved here, so I’m still getting all my things unpacked and all,” the girl explained. Mr. Jim nodded his head in comprehension.


“Well if you need a break, there’s a café just a few blocks down the street from here called Joie de Vivre. Stop by if you get the chance and need some coffee!” The young woman shifted some more, a bit uncomfortably although she was genuinely interested in what Mr. Jim had to say.


“Thank you, I will! I hate to be rude, but these boxes are getting a bit heavy, so I’m gonna go set ‘em down. I’m Rebecca, by the way. Or Becca, that’s fine too. It was nice to meet you, Mr…er…”


“Mr. Jim,” he finished. “Nice to meet you too.”


Mr. Jim started to push the wheelchair again but soon stopped as he felt a strong pulse in his chest, accompanied by a sudden flash of heat and ringing in his ears. The man closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, waiting a good seven minutes until the sensation had passed. He took the rest of the journey slowly and cautiously, which made the café seem much farther away than it really was. As he rounded the corner and the café sign came into view, he straightened his posture and resumed his regular pace, in hopes that no one would question his health. He saw a young man going into the café- he looked rather unkempt and scraggly to Mr. Jim; however, the young man stepped back outside and held the door open for the disabled gentleman.


“Good morning, Sir.”


“Roger, isn’t it?” Mr. Jim recognized that this man was a frequent customer, frequent being, perhaps, an understatement.


“Yeah, that’s right.” Roger Sanderson ruffled his already-unruly hair, causing more of it to stick up in places.


“Got a job yet, Roger?”


“Um…no, Sir.”


“Better get on that, son. You won’t get anywhere in life hanging around a coffee shop twenty four-seven,” Mr. Jim replied gruffly. The older man rolled up to the counter but hung back while other customers ordered hot drinks. Mr. Jim wheezed a few times but cleared his throat and approached the counter as soon as the other customers had been served. “Marion! How are ya, hon?” Mr. Jim grinned broadly as he greeted his favorite employee. Not only was Marion a hard worker, but she was good at basically everything- making the refreshments, to managing the other employees, and even relating to customers even. “Make your best cup of coffee to get these old joints moving again?” he asked jokingly.

 

[TheHarlequinnCat]

It seemed harder to get through the days now, she could tell Mr. Rossbach was getting horribly ill; she could see it in the way his hands shook as he fumbled to write something down, a to-do list so he did not forget where he was going next, and she could see that he his PTSD had taken a turn for the worse; maybe it was because he stopped taking his medication when he forgot to call back the psychiatrist. Surely, he should've remembered to put that down on his to-do list. She did not see a point in telling him this matter, however, he didn't need to know she could see it; because she was certain he took a liking to her because he saw she suffered from a severe anxiety just existing day to day. Because he owned the establishment, he could act as a customer and get anything for free. He knew he could come in any other way, but recently he seemed to enjoy going the way the customers do; possibly to make sure the cafe retained its lovely opening aura.


The slightest upturn of a smile pulled at the corners of her mouth as she handed over a ceramic mug of the house blend, one sugar-two cream. She didn't need to be told twice to get the man his coffee, even though he had made the preposition to drink more herbal teas in his senile age- the house blend was a weak spot that he had sought out on his own. Brushing her hands on her apron as the last of their customers sat down, she turned to talk to her boss, "Fine, how about you?" Perfectly amicable, she started off the conversation easily; her eyes holding a certain concern in them, while her hands went up to adjust a stray curl popping out of her updo. She wasn't sure how to tell the man they had gotten a phone call Mr. Rossbach may not have expected, it had been his son asking how he could get ahold of his father. The young man's voice had been weak, feeble as though he were out of breath, and he faded into a low rasping hiss when she said Jim had fallen under the weather recently so he wasn't at the cafe all the time. The cafe phone was a go-to for his son on the very rare occasion he contacted since Jim was here more than his house for the duration of his adult life. It'd been the night after the last when that happened, and her heart skipped a beat when she heard the phone drop and the line go flat; unsure if she should call back, all she could do was set down the receiver and pace around cleaning until she closed up shop. Unsure if she should tell him about the strange incident, fearing he may have a heart attack upon hearing the story, she merely played it off and tried to hold smalltalk with him.

 

[Wishfully]

Mr. Jim’s hands shook a little as he took the warm mug into his hands, but luckily, he managed to avoid spilling hot coffee on himself. He swallowed the liquid carefully, his face scrunching up slightly after doing so. The drink was delicious, but it didn’t feel right in his system. His doctor had mentioned that coffee wasn’t the best think for him, but Mr. Jim figured it couldn’t be so bad every now and then.


“I’m…well, you know, I’m hanging in there,” the man chuckled in response. “Good to hear you’re fine. I see you’ve still got a steady stream of people here in the mornings- that’s pretty good,” he remarked. A lot of the customers were regulars, though there were always a couple of new faces too. It always felt nice- just like home. Mr. Jim looked around the shop and lowered his voice. “Are the other workers behaving themselves?” he asked.


“Excuse me, could I uh…get a, um…” the young man’s voice trailed off as he glanced at the coffee shop owner. Mr. Jim looked back over at Roger, that guy from earlier. Roger shifted awkwardly under the older man’s somewhat condescending gaze before he turned his attention back to Marion to finish ordering a tea. After Roger went to sit back down, Mr. Jim furrowed his eyebrows a little. “I feel like that guy’s been around here forever,” he muttered. The old man was honestly judgmental, especially when it came to younger men. He never got along all that well with his own son, and there was a generational gap that Jim Rossbach could never seem to cross or understand. Guys these days didn’t seem to work hard at anything, he felt. They didn’t try to make anything from themselves- all they wanted was a free pass in life. Of course, he didn’t know or necessarily take the time to know every man’s story.


“Oh, and if you ever need to hire more people, just let me know,” Mr. Jim added. “Not that I don’t like having you here, Marion, but I just don’t want you overwhelmed feeling like you have to work all the time.”

 

[TheHarlequinnCat]

Marion tended to the customers while continuing her conversation with Mr. Jim, smiling as much as she could muster with the thought of his son on her mind. Looking to Roger, she said quietly to her boss, "He's a nice boy, no need to worry. Just bums around and stays quiet." She knew he had a distaste for young men, but seemed to like women because they were like daughters he wished he had. She gladly told him that the other workers had never been so diligent in their jobs, but didn't add it was because they were all worried for Mr. Jim. More people had dropped out of the job lately, moving on for their college jobs; she was stuck here, but her pay was good and she didn't mind the free coffee. Finally, once the morning rush calmed down to hardly anything, she brushed her apron and moved to the back with Mr. Jim; letting him through and allowing another employee to take over the front. Technically, she shouldn't have been taking a break so early; but, being Manager had its perks, and when it had to do with Mr. Jim, no one questioned it.


Clearing her throat, now that they were in the back, she raised her eyebrows a bit and inhaled deeply; clearly preparing to tell him something unpleasant. Finally, out with it, she huffed "Dallas called." Watching closely for a reaction, she continued, "He dropped the phone before I could ask what he wanted... He just kept repeating he wanted to talk to you." Carefully, she nearly whispered, "He didn't sound stable."


Unsure of what would happen next, she merely turned to cleaning while it sunk in; but he knew full well she was still listening, and that their conversation was still continuing, it was just an indicator she wanted to make things seem normal to other workers.


(I know this is insanely short but I did not want to powerplay Mr. Jim)

 

[Wishfully]

Roger thanked Marion for the tea and retreated back to his usual corner in the coffee shop. He knew the owner thought him a suspicious character, but he really didn't know what to do to prove he wasn't. He never bothered anyone, but no one really talked to him either. Roger was more or less broke, he only had enough money to pay for his motel room and a drink from the cafe, but he knew that money would soon run out as well. Roger honestly didn't have a plan for when that would happen. He would have to start sleeping in parks or on city benches, most likely. But the fact of the matter is, he probably wouldn't get hired anywhere because he had no real skills other than music. The young man got out a notebook and a pencil and started writing down chords for a new song. He hadn't gotten famous for any songs yet, but he had to keep trying.


Mr. Jim nodded at Marion's response, glad to hear about the other workers. He knew that Marion had her fair share of things to deal with that didn't involve the cafe, and he couldn't help but worry about her sometimes. There wasn't a lot that really happened in his lonely days, so thinking about other people was the least he could do. He didn't even have that many family members left, seeing as his wife was gone and his son was…well, he really didn't know. The last time he saw Dallas was, well, it was a very long time ago. It was partially his fault, Mr. Jim knew. He had left his wife to raise Dallas by herself, and she always resented him for that, especially when Dallas turned out to be a mess.


He felt his heart stop for a moment when Marion mentioned the boy. "O-Oh…" He didn't sound stable? Mr. Jim honestly wasn't stable himself. For some reason, his pulse began to race faster. What could Dallas possibly want after all these years? Mr. Jim frowned and took a few moments of silence to compose himself. "Did he leave a number or anything?" he finally asked. "If so, I'll try and talk to him. I don't want him to keep bothering you here if all he needs is to talk to me." He would never admit it, but the man felt like Marion was more of his child than his own son. He didn't want shady guys always causing trouble for her or any of the other workers and customers, which is one of the reasons he always looked down on Roger. Mr. Jim looked at the clock. "I should be going soon," he remarked. "I have a doctor's appointment in a few hours," he sighed. It was no fun getting older, and time had never treated him that well.


(It's no problem- posts tend to get shorter when it's a conversation between 2 characters anyways. And sorry I'm really slow at this, school has been awful as of late >.>')

 

[TheHarlequinnCat]

Marion checked the caller history and wrote down the number in clear writing for him, giving him a look the bordered on solemn and sympathetic as she escorted him out the door. "Try not to give them too much trouble, and tell me what happens if you decide to call him." She sounded blunt to any passerby, but in retrospect talking to people about problems wasn't exactly a strong point. Carefully, she watched him from the window as he wheeled off, probably to his car depending on how far he came to get there. Sighing, she wiped her hands halfheartedly on her apron, and turned to see the dead restaurant. Their morning rush ended, most people ran off to work, spare a few cafe bums writing on their laptops or the occasional stop-and-go customer. These customers were mainly teenagers and young adults, including a nearly middle-aged blonde woman she'd seen frequent the restaurant lately. She couldn't remember if she'd met the woman in a bookstore or some kind of bakery, she was some kind of entrepreneur; Marion just couldn't remember what she did.


The woman always would stare at the board, even though she ordered the same thing, fidget a bit, bite her lower lip, then order their 'Black and White' mocha. Mr. Jim had never met her, even though she was a frequent customer these days, but she never stayed long. It was strange that someone came so frequently but left so soon, as though she had to always be somewhere new. Marion didn't question the woman, she looked tired and had only once mentioned while buying one of their little cakes that she was going to be the size of a whale by the end of the month. Of course, it didn't happen, but the lick of humor had ebbed at the back of Marion's head. She was constantly perplexed the way people perceived themselves and the world around her, she nearly felt as though no one saw things the way she did; dangerous situations didn't seem dangerous to her coworkers, shady people didn't seem as shady to them, and concerning phone calls weren't a thing to think twice about. With the unexpected amount of down time, she pushed herself to try and talk to one of the regulars. The young man in the corner, Roger, had been ordering smaller sizes; he was around the 99 cent home brew these days. Having one of their newer employees mess up a batch of cookies, not burnt; just ugly, she had let there be free cookies. Plucking one from the basket with a tissue, she approached the young man. "Here, it's free." She offered, placing it delicately down for him. "One of our workers made an odd batch so we're letting people take them.." Marion awkwardly explained, seeming to regret the decision as soon as she made it.


--


From the way the boy trembled, clearly more than just a gust of wind, the crippling anxiety and paralyzing fear evidently burning into the depths of his psyche, anybody could see he had fallen far off the deep end. He cradled his left arm, mumbling a string of incoherent nonsense to the dead payphone in his hand. Dallas Anthony struggled to make that call again, afraid of what might happen. He had tried to call on his cellphone before, but a girl picked up.


Nothing could've prepared him for how low he'd sunk, and nothing could prepare him for what his father would say when he found his son practically begging for help.


His was sunken, ghastly and gaunt- Pulled into a tight grimace as he spoke in grating whispers to nobody in particular. Dallas had always been handsome, but it was hard to see that now. He had his mother's features. He had her determined icy eyes, her arched cheekbones and gentle brow. He tugged at his sweater sleeves, attempting to hide where his skin was indicating signs of infection. His neck was bruised, blood dried on his clothes. He had gotten into a fight earlier. Even when the dim lights above flickered and he began to sob in quivering wails that tore away the membrane of his throat, he could not muster the humility to call back his father.


He needed the high, and he was about to try to make another deal. If only he could stop the tears from streaming down his face. Eventually he pulled himself together, putting the phone back on its receiver. It was only a comfort he tried to convince himself of, that maybe he could convince himself he had someone to call. Footsteps that were not his own echoed from the parking garage he stood by, right by the payphone he had stayed at. The trade had been easy, expensive, but easy. Dallas hurried home, hands shaking wildly as he retreated to his cold, dark, apartment. The heating bill could be exempt for a bit, he needed that high.


(a bit depressing, got really lazy with the writing. School's been ROUGH for me too.. O-O the feeling is entirely mutual)

 

[Wishfully]

Okay, let’s go with a C minor –no- C seventh. Yeah, that sounds better. Hm, now as for lyrics…


Roger blinked twice as he turned his head toward the female employee. Of course, he recognized her voice, just he didn’t really expect her to approach him. “Ah…um…thanks,” he said as he reached out and picked the cookie up from where she had placed it. He broke off a small chunk and placed it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully for a second. Although it was misshapen, there certainly wasn’t anything wrong with the flavor. Roger’s glanced up, the corners of his mouth twitching into a brief smile before chewing his lip awkwardly. “It’s good. Thanks,” he repeated, “Marion- it’s Marion, right?” He was pretty sure of her name since she was here most of the time and he was here almost as often, but it was just one of those things people asked- perhaps in attempt to break the ice or at least seem less creepy.


Roger’s gaze flitted nervously around the café as he waited for her response. There were some regulars, and he noticed a middle-aged blonde woman leaving- she had become a more frequent customer as of late. Just sitting here in the corner, Roger found inspiration from the other customers and the workers. A lot of songs were based off of stories he created about a customer’s daily life. The blonde woman- he imagined she was a hard worker, still trying to make something of her life and find happiness at this age because she had seen a lot of struggles in her past. Of course he didn’t know if any of that was true, but he tried to look for the best in people and give them the benefit of the doubt. After all, Roger knew he didn’t look like much- he was a product of the situation called life.


He couldn’t remember the last time he had an actual conversation more than an “excuse me” or “sorry, I’ll move if you need” or something similarly short. The young man tapped his pen nervously against his notebook, occasionally looking back at Marion. Maybe he should write a song about her. What kind of person was she?


--


Rebecca wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. There was still plenty to be done, but she was ready for a lunch break. The young woman didn’t know her way around yet, but she remembered the man she had met that morning and how he mentioned a café just down the street. That seemed like as good a place as any to her. Cafes were safe and didn’t feel as threatening as the rest of the city did to small-town, country girl Becca.


Becca made sure the moving van was empty before she set out for the café- at least the hard part was accomplished. It’s funny how a person doesn’t seem to have many belongings…until they have to move them all. Becca was a little relieved she lived in a single apartment, but at the same time, she felt like it could get lonely. All of her life, she lived with her father and brother and it would be strange waking up to the sound of traffic instead of sizzling pans and loud, jovial voices.


The young woman was an obvious outsider- she walked very slowly in order to take in the sights, and some people gave her slightly rude looks as they had to walk around her. Becca was rather oblivious to the weird glances as she continued her casual pace, mumbling an “Oh wow,” or “Huh, that’s interesting” every now and then.


“Joie de Vivre,” she read aloud. That sounded like the café the man told her about. Becca opened the door and stepped inside, immediately greeted by the scent of fresh coffee grounds. She smiled and wandered toward the menu board.


--


The piece of paper felt like a boulder in Mr. Jim’s shirt pocket- pressing against his heart in more ways than one. His hand trembled as he gingerly touched the shallow pocket on his chest, tempted to call the number, but at the same time, tempted to toss the paper into the wind. But he couldn’t do that. The pull of family had always been part of Mr. Jim’s life. Even when he was overseas, no especially then, he couldn’t stop thinking about the wife and son he had left behind. Dallas wasn’t stable, Marion had said. Mr. Jim had enough of his own problems, and Dallas was an adult now. It would be easy to ignore this problem. ‘Because it was just as easy to leave him in the first place,’ he could imagine his wife accusing.


When Mr. Jim arrived at the doctor’s, he sat idly without saying anything more than necessary. The doctor was overly cheerful for some reason, but Mr. Jim was too preoccupied to respond to the optimism.


“Mr. Rossbach? Mr. Rossbach? Did you hear what I said?”


“Huh, what? Sorry, you’re gonna have to speak up. My hearing isn’t so great,” the man replied. The doctor raised an eyebrow, giving him a well-of-course-I-know-that-already-I’m-your-doctor look.


“I was just saying that your blood pressure is a little higher than it should be and apparently your hearing is a little worse, but other than that your body seems to be functioning okay. Now about the high blood pressure, you really need to-“


Mr. Jim nodded mindlessly and eventually the doctor turned his attention to Mr. Jim’s assistant, Darlene, since she honestly knew more about his habits than the man himself did. Mr. Jim’s heartbeat grew louder as he continued to think about his son. Where was he? What did he even look like now? I have to know, he thought. But part of him wasn’t sure he wanted to. Calling that number would be like admitting to everything the man had ever done wrong, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to face the past.


(Again, so very sorry for my molasses speed. I promise I'm not normally like this >.<' If you're fine with such a slow pace, I'm perfectly fine with it too- just take your time because I know school is crazy, or if you'd rather call it off let me know and I won't be offended. I hope everything is going well with the college search by the way!)

 

[TheHarlequinnCat]

(it's so incredibly fine, I'm good with a slow pace too you have no idea... I'm busy as hell, just got put on medication for depression/anxiety it's an adjustment so believe me I've been more than busy enough!)


Marion couldn't help but watch the strange customers with a bemused expression, she nodded to the asking of her name; not surprised he knew it considering when she wore her apron it had a little nametag attached, of course, she didn't wear it as much as some of the newer employees solely because it 'made her hips even bigger'; but to be honest that was just the fact of the matter they were already that wide. Clearing her throat, she rocked on her feet as the customer rush picked up. Her mind was distant, foggy, hazy, god she couldn't focus on the mundanes of this cafe; how could she make the same latte over and over when Mr. Jim surely was suffering. She knew it wasn't good to just drop that kind of information on him, but in attempt to keep his old flame of rage at bay she figured it'd be best to let him cool off alone. The doctor may have some kind of help for him, but she hadn't a clue of what she was meant to do. All she could do was try to work as diligently as possible, switching to autopilot and avoiding all conversation but smalltalk between the exchange of money and coffee. A lonely feeling crept up her spine, as work became harder as the hours drawled on. She noticed a new girl, small, asian, thin and lovely little thing; took her time ordering, which made Marion want to pull her hair out on a day like this. Working the front used to be her biggest fear when she was young, but now she was just fine; so long as she didn't let her mind get the best of her too much.


--


"Aunt Cass!" she heard one of the boys, the youngest from the sounds of it, call from up the stairs. They lived above the old knick-knack shop; it was a lot of books, a few vintage finds, and a nice bakery in the front. To be honest, it was a cultural mesh that the hipsters in this city could not get enough of. "Yes?" She chirped back from the bathroom, trying to pull the thick black mascara through her wiry lashes without getting it everywhere, "YES?" She called back louder before realizing he was right at the door. He was holding a box of fruit snacks, pointing exuberantly to the last packet he held as he walked past. Two boys, her sister's sons, and her sister had passed. Where was their father? Rightfully so in his grave, the man had been messed up. She wasn't sure if he was exactly abusive, but he had an explosive temper and she assumed guilt ate away at him after his wife died in a car crash one morning after they'd had a particularly rough fight. The youngest had been 5, the oldest 8; it was rough on both of them. They stayed with their grandparents for five years, and now she had them for the past 4. The oldest;17 , the youngest;15 . "We're going out for a bit, okay?"


"Okay, be safe, Finn!.... Please.." Cassandra could only insist, they had so much energy; going all kinds of places at all kinds of days. She worried for Finn, not so much his older brother, the difference was that the oldest (while he had seen more) understood things a lot better than his brother, who had been left high and dry unsure of what exactly happened with his parents. Especially now, with his brother leaving for college in the next year, she couldn't help but feel overprotective of them.


--


Some men had come to his house, they were looking for the money he owed them; but he had spent it on drugs, he'd actually cheated these very men out of their own drugs because he'd used it before he could provide the 'goods'. As the knocking got louder on the door he wrote a note, hoping this would be the last time he had to wake up and feel reality hit him like a ton of bricks, was he going to die? He wasn't sure, all he could muster to write in the two seconds before he lost himself in that warm blissful embrace of his drugs was; 'it will never be this good again.' Then he was gone, floating in some world he couldn't even dream up.


He came to eventually, unsure of whether it had been days, weeks, or only hours. His eyes fluttered open, the fluorescent lights leaving a ringing in his ears; overstimulated by the brightness, with the sickening aroma of latex and disinfectant tearing at his stomach muscles. He couldn't move, he could hardly do anything other than loll his head to the side and moan weakly; he was immobilized. Dallas felt panicked immediately, was he incarcerated? He knew dealing had been wrong, but it was the only way he could make money it was the only way. However, he woke up to see sad eyes on a male nurse who was writing down. He couldn't move, hell, was he breathing? The world was spinning, and he had never been in so much pain; the man increased the drip as Dallas began to cry, and he faded into oblivion again. With that, they called the only family member they had in their database; his father.