"Cal, Cal wake up, c'mon."

The words filtered slowly through the purple-hued haze of sleep. Cal let his eyes slide slowly open, half-squinting against the inevitably too-bright light. What had he had to drink last night? He tried to avoid metaphor when the realities of brain chemistry were so much more graphic, but couldn't resist the analogy to something sloshing inside his skull. When he began, dry-tongued and inarticulate, to express his displeasure, Jasper covered his mouth with one hot hand.

Oh, really? He would have bitten down, but his teeth were cotton and oil and his gnathic coordination nil. A glare would have to substitute.

"C'mon, get up get up get up. Atlas is here, get dressed, hurry up."

Items of clothing were shoved his way. Probably they weren't what he'd been wearing last night, as they didn't smell like gin and cherries. Still groggy and very confused, he let Jasper propel him toward the bathroom, where he fumblingly habillated, pantswise, one leg at a time. He managed, despite a certain lingering confusion, which blurred the edges of his mental speech and confused his inner ear, not to fall over.

He'd just managed to fit feet to shoes, hurriedly--after all, it really would be hideous if Atlas found him, after everything that had happened... he'd say vile things--when Jasper flung his shirt over his shoulders.

"Like it better when this is going the other way." Drily. "You didn't let me do up your tie."

Jas opened one of his innumerable secret passages--Cal had used a few before--and ushered him through. One of his legs was still leaden with sleep, but he maneuvered anyway, sticking one arm through a sleeve. No. Not a sleeve, that was, that was... nothing, actually, he'd missed. Try again. Sleeve, sleeve... I hate you sometimes, Jasper, why can't I just stay, why does it really matter? Fully sleeved, he was about to say something to that effect, but Jasper grabbed for him, and, hand à cheek, pulled him back for one of his apologetic kisses.

"Sorry about this, I'll make it up to you, yeah?"

"Sure."

Cal nodded tartly, but couldn't rest on a note of petulance, so he touched Jasper's shoulder fleetingly and nodded before struggling down the stairway, leaning on first one wall and then the other as he wrestled with his shirt. It was cold out, but he'd a coat hanging in the back entranceway. When he got down, he found his shirt was smudged with wall-matter, but it hardly mattered if Jasper approved anyway. And the buttons weren't matched up. Oh well. He grabbed for his jacket and scarf and set off. Clear air poured into the stuffy basin of his head and for just a moment it was lovely. Then it stung, and, eyes watering, he hurried toward the nearest possibility of coffee: Honeycutt's.

He'd never actually been himself, but Jasper brought back wonderful Danish sometimes, and tales of someone who would probably drive Cal to homicide but who also made excellent pastries. Probably she'd have some coffee, too. Cal was in the mood for both coffee and homicide, so it was really his lucky day. Damn you, Jasper. Anger, when inarticulate, rested somewhere behind his breastbone, but a few deep breaths dislodged it and replaced it with the much more manageable emotions of need for coffee and thirst.

He pushed open the door to Honeycutt's and struggled inside, assaulted by sudden heat and honey-yellow. He came up to the counter and leaned on it for a moment, shutting his eyes against the brilliant light. For the moment he didn't look up at the doubtless-likewise-sparkling shop owner. She was probably pretty.

"Black coffee and a cup of water."

It was about quarter till nine and morning work rush was just beginning to wind down. Of course the bakery would see a steady stream of customers through the lunch hour, but eager rush for breakfast pastries that assaulted her shop each morning was winding to a close. Daphne bustled around the bakery serving customers, checking on the cakes in the oven, and cleaning up. Of course she employed liberal amounts of magic to help her with most tasks. It was the only way she could manage to run the place on her own.

Even after living in the magical world for more than a decade she still sometimes slipped back into doing things the muggle way, especially when it came to baking. A problem she attributed to having learned how to do everything without magic first. It had taken her two weeks of nearly killing herself trying to keep up with running the bakery using primarily muggle means before it occured to her that she should just bewitch her cleaning supplies to wipe down the tables automatically after a customer left, or charm the ingrediants to mix themselves instead of doing it by hand. She had felt rather silly at first, but those days were long past now and she had things running smoothly.

She looked up from her current task (restocking the danishes) as the little bell over her door jingled merrily, welcoming in yet another customer. She was certain she hadn't ever seen him in her shop, for he was quite a sight to behold. He was still half-asleep moving in that awkard way, you do when you're still trying to banish the last of your dreams out of your head as the waking world intrudes. He was shielding his eyes from the bright lights in the shop, his clothes rather rumpled looking, and his shirt buttoned-up askew. He approached the counter and leaned on it heavily refusing to open his eyes at all. And she wondered for a moment if the man was really awake and not just sleep walking.

"Black coffee and a cup of water."

He didn't sound particularly friendly. The order was croaked out but done in a nevertheless rudely, authoritative manner. But Daphne was quite accustomed to this, not everyone was as much of a morning person as she was. And she often had customers who were barely able to function until they had their early morning dose of caffine and sugar. She was one of those bizarre people who when they regained conciousness each morning was completely awake in an instant.

"Good Morning!" She chirped as she plucked up a coffee mug and poured the steaming black liquid into it. She set it down gently in front of him and with equal efficiency produced a cup of water.

"That should have you going in no time! Might I suggest a danish to go with it? They're fresh out of the oven: Cream cheese, Strawberry, Lemon, and Rasberry! There's nothing quite like a warm danish in the morning. Except, perhaps maybe a fresh muffin..." She mused.

And then she was off in her own little world debating the merits of danishes versus muffins as a breakfast food.

Cal could think of very few things he would've liked less than a Danish (or muffin) at that moment. Her voice scraped across exposed nerves in his brain. He paused, still blinking against the general brilliance, then bent to swig the cup of water. Alcohol was a diuretic; the water would help alleviate the headache and the acrid taste under his tongue. He slammed the empty glass back down on the counter as though it had been a shot and stared at Honeycutt belligerently.

She was--chirpy, charming, overly... over. De trop. De trop en trop, in fact. If her grating voice wasn't enough, her blinding smile could do in any sour customer.

And she was pretty. Polished was the word Cal used for people like this.

"Do you know Jasper Christie?"

It was ridiculous and paranoid, but he had to ask. He stood there, leaning on the counter, the scent of his own breath sickening him and his hair sticking to the back of his neck. The hand wrapped around his cup of coffee twitched. It was hot. He didn't let go.

He scowled at her and downed his glass of water quickly. She stood there expectantly for a few moments hovering between the danishes and the muffins but he completely ignored her suggestion for a nice snack. She thought perhaps he was one of those people who didn't enjoy eating breakfast. Daphne was rather oblivious to her own annoyingness at times. More specifically that non-morning people did not enjoy it when morning people were obnoxiously cheery before half-ten.

There was nothing from him for a few moments. He didn't say anything to her, but he didn't leave either.

"Do you know Jasper Christie?"

Now that was a completely random question. She looked at the man in front of her inquisitively. Of course she knew Jasper Christie, everyone in London knew him magical or muggle. His shop was just down the street. And he had only been a couple years older than her when they were in school, as well as one of Apollo's friends. Of course she didn't know him very well. But it really was a silly question.

"Jasper? He stops in two or three times a week for rasberry-filled chocolate cupcakes." She replied letting her confusion at the sudden randomness of the question seep into her voice. "He owns a jewelry shop just down the street. He has some really lovely things."

Raspberry-filled chocolate cupcakes? Cal didn't usually rummage through Jasper's baked goods--it was unsporting, since he insisted Jasper didn't rummage through his (but he always did anyway). Still. That sounded--that sounded--

"Raspberry-filled chocolate cupcakes?" he said slowly, setting down his coffee. The words tasted repugnant to him, clotted with potential meaning. "Is that an innuendo?"

Admittedly, he hadn't encountered anyone who seemed less likely to intend an innuendo, but maybe this Honeycutt was the most insidious sort of harlot. Harlot? Had he just... What century do you live in, Ferox?

But Jasper had gone off with Caedmon and he was angry. It was different if it were--just some--but someone who worked down the street, it was--

"Raspberry-filled chocolate cupcakes? Is that an innuendo?"

She looked at him curiously. Innuendo? Weren't they talking about cupcakes? Perhaps he was a bit drunk. It was a tad early in the morning, but then if he was a friend of Jasper Christie it was quite possible it was residual from some crazy party the night before.

"It's a cupcake." She repeated slightly confused. She reached down into the display case and pulled out one of the cupcakes in question and set it down gently on the counter.

"They're quite good. Moist chocolate cake concealing a delicious rasberry filling! Though if you're not a fan of rasberry, I do take special orders. I could fill them with whatever you like."

She smiled sweetly.

Cal stared suspiciously at the cupcake and took an open-mouthed swig of coffee. It burned the back of his throat and his tongue. It was an ordinary-looking cupcake, though the scent of it mingled sickeningly with coffee and bile. He felt ill.

He wasn't going to ask if 'I can fill them with whatever you like,' paired with that simpering smile, had been an innuendo too. She probably couldn't manage an innuendo if her gossamer-thin little life depended on it. Probably. He was being ridiculous. He'd seen Jasper's type: languorous, luxuriously-groomed models, and--had no idea of his taste in blokes, other than Cal; didn't want to know and didn't want to think of either.

He cleared his throat and backed up.

"Ms. Honeycutt," he said, icily, stumbling around a scalded tongue.

He blinked and turned away.

"You probably like My Little Ponies," he muttered under his breath, scanning the room for a place to sit; it was cold outside, and he had no one to side-along him home.

"Ms. Honeycutt," He all but snarled, grumpiness radiating off of him.

"Are you feeling quite alright, Mister...?" She trailed off uncertain of the man's name.

"You probably like My Little Ponies," the man muttered darkly, continuing his long string of mostly unintelligible conversation. And considering she was friend with Apollo Sinistra, and Atlas Caedmon frequented her shop that was saying rather a lot.

"I'm told they're quite friendly, but I'm actually more partial to honey bees. Of course they aren't as sparkly but they're quite useful. They pollinate plants in addition to making honey. I use a lot of honey in my baked goods, you know."

She shook her head and went back to filling the display case with pastries. He probably wasn't that interested anyway. Very few people truly appreciated the beauty and utility of the honey bee. They usually just dismissed them as pests like wasps or yellow jackets.