Joshua, bored teenager, or so it would appear. In fact, the pyrokinetic was just over the age of twenty, and it could be said he was refusing to admit it. He was starkly elegant in a cream, high quality turtleneck and dark fitted pants- one sign he was a bit older, as they fit properly and his shirt was even tucked him. His choice of coffee was not for flavour but for the colour, a dark mocha with whipped cream eaten off first thing. It dangled from one hand half-drunk as he hummed gently to a tune in his head, dark hair falling artfully across his forehead, carelessly arranged.
His eyes were not on one particular person but on the flow of people, in and out. It was interesting, he mused half-heartedly, to see which were always in a hurry, which weren't, which types of people were always dissatisfied and which were plainly delighted with a simple coffee, one cream, no sugar. He supposed he'd fall into the former category most of the time, but today was oddly jovial and relaxed for him. He even cracked a yawn, a rarity in his days of making more and more money. After all, what did he have to do with his days? Nothing.
Soon enough, predictably, the small tealights on the tables caught his attention. He began to play with the one on his own table, flaring it up then dimming it almost to the point of putting it out, causing the flame to flicker briefly into two parts. People were remarkably unperceptive, he noted, adding it to the list of mental notes he'd been preparing without meaning to.

Most people are unperceptive, and Taryn is generally considered one of them. She notices odd things--as in, things that are odd to notice, not necessarily things that are odd--but she doesn't always pay attention to her surroundings.

Her hair is finally long enough to put in a ponytail again, dyed a coppery brown and falling into her face because it's not quite long enough to all stay confined. Her face is oval, her lips pouting, and she looks rather like she's been sitting here for hours, not doing anything in particular. This is true.

She is drinking hot chocolate, with lots of whipped cream, idly drawing in a spiral notebook, and gazing in rapt fascination at the flames of the tealights. There is very little that attracts Taryn's attention more than the flicker of flames.

It's mesmerizing. She used to light a candle in her room before she went to sleep and spend half an hour staring at it. (That is unfortunately not an option in the dorms. She really ought to look into getting an apartment of her own.)

Bored with his own light, a slow smile curves Joshua's face as he notices a girl- she'd been there for quite awhile, hadn't she? Certainly since before him- apparently almost as fascinated by fire as he is. His eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly then smoothed as was habit to avoid old-age wrinkles.
It did take a second, but his concentration soon caused her own light to act up. Very subtly, in the beginning. The flame just flared a little bit as te door opened, then stayed in it's slightly-brighter stage a second too long. Then two. Then it died back down again. He smiled gently and looked away, sipping his fancy coffee beverage as he noted an argument going on at the bar, then looked back to her light. The flame split into two distanct forms, seperated directly over the wick. It stayed just long enough for him to be sure she'd notice, then dropped back into a completly normal tea light again.
What better way to spend a crummy winter afternoon than mess with inferior uninformed mortal's heads? Never mind that he fell directly into the class he was so arrogantly putting her into.

Like the tea light, her face brightens with a smile, tossed in his direction. It makes sense, after all, that the boy at the table where the phenomenum was originally observed would be the cause of the second occurrence, doesn't it?

He's cute, she notes absently, but the fire is more interesting. Pretty!

Don't be so presumptious, Joshua. Taryn may not know much about magic, but she may very well know more than you do, given the variety of her acquaintances.

Quick, he surmised, though he was also quick enough to smile back to her before her attention was redirected. Unfortunately, his mind didn't really aquaint her picking up on whom was causing the flame to change with her really knowing about who and what he was. He focused back on the fire and managed to split the tiny flame into three distinct and equal parts for again about a second before merging them all, slowly.
The smile faded off his face into concentration as he showed off a bit, creating just the illusion of a tiny salamander in the flame, coiling up, before it flashed back. His excuse, of course, if anyone had asked that he wouldn't want any Unnishes to become too curious. In truth, the flame was too small to manipulate easily and he'd really only known about his superior powers (or so he thought) for a short time, and therefore he couldn't hold anything complicated for very long.
Glancing back up to her face, he also absently noted she was pretty. Worth the effort, then, to show off.

Who he is, no. What he is, not really. Although she has read lots of books that give her a better idea of what to call various magical beings and abilities than some people might have read...

Still.

Her mouth opens in a tiny gasp of delight at the salamander. Even more pretty!

She glances at him again, slightly shy and somewhat pleased, then raises her hot chocolate in a kind of salute.

Do it again?

He was quick to flash a pleased grin at her awknowledgment, sipping of his own drink again then lounging back in seeming perfect relaxation as he focused on the flame. Building it hotter for just a moment, he then split it into two salamanders, one scurrying across the bottom of the wax-covered aluminum to meet the other before both went up in a small shower of sparks and the wick re-kindled.
Without waiting for her again, he tried again, now intruiged himself by what he could possibly do with such a small amount to work with. He flattened the flame out, creating a sort of spiral that grew rapidly out around itself, thinning as it did, then collapsed inwards in a tiny nova to once again look as if no magic had ever meddled with it.
Needing a break, he glanced up to see what her reaction would be, some of his posturing and better-than-you attitude gone at her childlike delight in his very small miracles.

Look, she's a good influence on him!

I tease.

She watches the flame, waiting to see what he'll do next, wondering if he's going to make a big performance out of it, wondering if he's going to introduce himself or if he'll leave her curious about him after today.

It could be interesting, could be fun, either way.

She glances at him, and that smile isn't going away.

He bit his lip, also wondering whether to introduce himself. The decision wasn't very hard, seeing as he knew almost no one in this dreary little town (or so he thought) and she seemed fasinated by his relatively unimportant skills, always an ego-booster. The flames danced into the shape of a scrollwork heart as he left his comfortable haunt and sauntered over, careful not to spill any of his drink on his precious clothing.

He sat down and offered a pale, warm hand, smiling friendly as he played with the flame absently, causing it to flicker between a variety of nondescript forms, all only slightly unnatural but with a very unnatural speed and order. "I'm Joshua. How're you doing?"

... heart is not necessarily good thing, given that she's only recently broken up with her boyfriend of however-long. However, still pretty. (And Valentine's was just a little while ago, so it's a tad depressing.)

"Taryn. 'm pretty good, I guess."

She takes his hand, shakes it briefly, and lets go almost immediately. While somewhere in the past several months, she's gotten more comfortable and confident where strange men are concerned, she's still wary.

He smiles and leans back in his chair, nodding. Similar to her, he really wasn't interested in a relationship, if only because he had more important things to be doing in life right then... at least in his own opinion.

He sighs as he plays idly with the flame, swirling it around inconspicously in symmetrical but meaningless patterns as he stared outside. "I'd have to say the same thing. After all, nothing's wrong... but it's hard to say life is excellent when it's grey and disgusting outside. You'd think weather would have the decency to snow and cover up all the slush and dirt."

She laughs.

"I wouldn't know. I'm from Texas, and you never get any kind of real weather down there, except when you don't want it."

She likes it much better up here, even when it is grey and disgusting outside. For one thing, it's not (quite) so hot, here.

He tipped his head a bit, eyes flicking back to her a second before they were drawn to the mysterious internal workings of a latte-maker... or something? He smiled absently as he considered the weather differences, though to be sure the middle of February was one of the worst times.

"I could use a bit of nice, consistantly warm weather now, but I can agree that I'd get bored in the long run. Even by the end of summer here I'm wishing for snow. Just a very short attention span, I suppose."

He glanced back down the four flames, then let them fall back into normal fire for a moment as he glanced to her sketchbook. "You draw much? You don't have to show me, I know some of it can be personal."

"Oh... kind of." Shrug. "It's not any good."

That's a lie. She's often told that it's quite good, and it's certainly not stick figures and scribbles.

"You can look, if you want."

Most of the pictures are of people, doing various things. Many of them are dressed in highly outdated clothing, because she has a liking for medieval sorts of things. They're labeled with names, sometimes, and sometimes not.

He smiles gently and accepts the book, flipping across some quickly and pausing at the more detailed ones, exploring them by tracing a finger over the drawings, though of course the paper is flat and he can't feel anything. He's just a tactile person.

He hands it back after he's gone through most of it, smiling as he sips at his coffee that never seems to grow cold... funny thing. "I think it's great, though of course I'm hardly an expert. Still much better than I could do."

She shrugs.

"They're okay, I guess." Sip of hot chocolate that leaves whipped cream on her upper lip, which she licks away absently. "I know too many people who are loads better than I am to call it any good."

So ha.

She glances at the flame again. Is he going to do more pretty things with fire?

He smiles and catches her hint, staring absently at it as he continues to manipulate the flame into patterns, fresh out of creative ideas as it comes to creating actual shapes. He does go back to a scurrying salamander for a moment, one that runs once about the bottom of the dish and then props it's tiny feet on the edge to stare up at Taryn.

"I'm actually newly moved here, I don't know much of anyone. Except you now, I guess." He sighs, thinking about the work he has to do when he gets home. Later, for sure. He heats his coffee up a bit and sips at it, glancing towards her.

"If it's not too personal, what do you do? Student? Working?"

"Both. Working when I can, so I have spending money, and going to Keaton when I'm not working, and finding time to have some semblance of a life when I'm not doing either."

Granted, her idea of a life is somewhat different than the average. For instance, she never goes to parties, because she doesn't like crowds or loud music or most anything else that parties involve.

"You?"

He nods a bit, very familiar with her description although he intends to never set foot in a place of learning again. His specialty is destruction. He sighs softly and creates a small horse of flame, a rather lovely thing with a mane of sparks and long, tailing legs.

"I just got a job here, in an accounting firm. It's very exciting, I assure you, one day I almost didn't fall asleep." He grins, though of course it isn't as bad as he would claim. "Out of high school. I'm probably the type of guy your mother warned you about despite spending most of my time reading."

She shrugs.

"I wouldn't know, my mother hasn't actually warned me about any type of guy in general, though a couple in specific."

Actually, she gets the feeling that her mother would love for Taryn to settle down with some nice boy or other and start producing grandchildren.

But that might be unfair.

Being an orphan, Josh is thankfully out of the range of being warned about anything by his mother. This also leaves him off the hook to never, ever, produce grandchildren that he must take care of.

He tips his head as he looks up at her again, his small horse dissolving into a round ball of fire that appears to balance precariously on top of the wick. "Is something the matter? If you'd rather not talk to me, I don't mind being told."

Yet another shrug. They seem to be a staple of communication.

"Nothing particularly the matter, I guess, just generally out of it and not talkative. Anyway, ask anybody, I'm pretty quiet as a rule."

With strangers.

Not so much with friends, though.

He smiles a bit, glancing quickly around the shop to see if anyone was staring at him- generally a bad thing even if he wasn't doing anything wrong at the moment. Satisfied that he was in the clear, he continues to talk.

"If I knew anyone in this strange town I'd be sure to ask them. As it is, I'll have to take your word for it." He drains his cup, his cream sweater impeccable as usual despite his penchant for drinks that stain.

He opens his mouth to say something inane, then shuts it, deciding perhaps comfortable silence is the way to go. He engrosses himself in the ever-present fire, cupping his hands about it so he can call more without looking too strange.

She has to smile at that.

"Well, there's Violet, Darcy, Keye, Wick, Jay..." Pause. "I guess I don't know a lot of people either. Huh. That's odd."

She can't think of anyone else. Well, there's her roommate, and there's Sam, but she hardly knows her roommate or sees the girl, and Sam is new friend person, and barely knows her. So there.

"Anyway, I'm pretty sure my word is good, so you can trust it."

He nods seriously, though the topic is hardly one to merit an entire discussion. "It's good to know- though of course you'd say that whether your word was good or not."

He gives a brief smile, dancing a bit of fire on his fingertip just below the table where she can clearly see it but people at the bar or entering can't. "Then again, I can't fathom any reason why you'd lie to me, so I'll trust you." He pauses, looking up to her. "Maybe you could introduce me to some people, since you know more than I do at any rate."

"I am informed by a good many people that I am trustworthy," she answers in mock-offense. "... however, I cannot think of any names off the top of my head at the moment. I shall be certain to let you know when I do."

To his second suggestion, she shrugs. (Yet again.)

"I dunno. Most of them I met just hanging around and kept running into. Probably you'll be the same, but if not, I won't have a chance to introduce you to anybody."

Funny, wasn't it, how people in this place did always run into each other. He nods and leans back, then abruptly realizes he is out of caffiene. Normally not a problem, however, he as afraid to fall asleep if he didn't keep imbibing. He sighs and climbs gracefully to his feet, out of the comfy chair that almost refuses to give up it's hold on his lean form.

"Can I offer you another of whatever you're having, while I'm up? Some food?"

"No, thanks, though."

She's had enough for now. And it goes against her principles to accept offers of buying things from guys she's just met. (At least he's not creepy. It's much worse when the guy doing the offering is about thirty-five and needs a shave.)

((...argh, writer's block.))

Whatever else his faults, Josh is definitaly not thrity-five and would die of shame if he was seen by anyone other than his dead mother unshaven. He simply goes and purchases another coffee, managing 10% off by using the same mug they gave him last time. That done, he returns, giving up his freedom to the comfy chair that oozes him into itself.

Rather than make more awkward conversation, he starts to play absently with the flames, his back-up activity at any time of boredom.

((We need plot. I could start something on fire?))