New roleplay! What happened to the 2nd one? God only knows.

Name: Cyril ???

Age: 19

DOB: he's not sure

Height: 5'6"

Hair colour/Style: pale blonde, pin straight and about to his shoulders—when he starts working in the café he ties it back in a ponytail

Eye colour: light blue

Orientation: gay

Appearance: Thin and frail, obviously fragile. When he showed up in the café for the first time he was wearing very loose, nondescript clothing. He'll wear whatever is provided for him, as well as the café uniform (obviously). He has a pattern of roses carved into his lower back—they don't hurt, they've been there too long—and he doesn't remember where they came from.

Personality: Very shy, nervous. He looks around a lot, as if he's expecting something to be coming after him at any moment. However, he has amnesia. So much as he's nervous, he can't tell anyone why, because he doesn't remember. He only knows his name and age. Everything else is questionable. He's also sort of cuddly, when people allow him to be.

Likes: books, long baths, being helpful, looking at the stars

Dislikes: talking about his past (or lack thereof), people staring at him, loud voices/noises, arguing

Love Interest: Ginger

----

Name: Morgan Laine

Age: 23 (college student)

DOB: May 25

Height: 5'10"

Hair colour/Style: red, messy and spiky

Eye colour: dark blue

Orientation: gay

Appearance: Thin, but not in a weak way. He wears the normal café uniform when at work, but when he's off he typically wears just jeans and a t-shirt. Typically he wears an earring in his left ear, and he has a different one for every day of the week.

Personality: Friendly, open—a very good employee. He's very attracted to the owner, and he blushes whenever they have physical contact. Even though he sometimes spends time with the man outside of work, he has yet to admit that he has more than friendly feelings for him. He can't make up his mind whether he likes Cyril or not—the boy is sweet, but since the owner seems to have taken a liking to him, he isn't sure how he feels about that.

Likes: coffee, sweets, sitting outside

Dislikes: there isn't anything he particularly dislikes, other than stupid customers

Love Interest: Ginger

---

Name: Naomi Kristoff

Age: 17

DOB: June 30

Height: 5'5"

Hair colour/Style: black, cut short at her chin

Eye colour: light green

Orientation: straight

Appearance: She used to live in Japan and as a matter of habit she continues to wear that uniform on an almost daily basis. Typically wears barrettes in her hair. She's very active, so she's thin in a sort of muscular way.

Personality: Peppy, upbeat...she thinks Cyril is adorable and has a habit of hugging him. She teases Morgan constantly about his unrequited love for Ginger, particularly when the guy is walking the other direction...in which case she typically assumes Morgan is watching his rear. All-in-all, she's very friendly with everyone, unless they're mean to someone she cares about, in which case she gets bitchy.

Likes: prettymuch everything the café serves, trying new things, bringing Cyril treats

Dislikes: morons, people who think they're better than everyone else

Love Interest: she's not really into dating right now

(True, that.)

"Tabby, come on," Ginger chided, motioning for the chubby black and grey striped cat to follow him to the back door. A meow was all he got for an answer, and he swore softly under his breath and went after her.

At two AM, the cafè that carried the name Checkers was bathed in shadows and silence. Lamp posts shone on the street outside, lightning up various parts of the interior. The occasional car drove past, but at this hour the neighborhood was pleasantly quiet. Frankly, the only reason he was down here at this hour was because Jules called ten minutes ago to tell him he forgot to close the fridge before he closed up the cafè that evening. Luckily, most of the food it contained was intact.

"I'm leaving you here for the night if you don't come here." Dressed in nothing but pyjama pants and slippers, he wasn't exactly warm. Thank God he lived above the cafè. He saw light reflected in the cat's yellow eyes and went for her. She was too fat to get away from him when he put some effort into it.

"Got y-" Very suddenly the ground came up to meet him; Ginger landed hard as his foot caught on something. "What the...?" Groaning, he pulled his legs away and sat up. Had Jules left the vacum cleaner out again? If so, he needed to have a talk with him for being so forgetful lately. The man was normally fairly observant.

His hands touched something large, soft and warm.

A person.

What. The. Hell.

"Hey, you okay?" He shook the other. "Damn, need lights."

After fumbling around in the dark for a while he flicked on a table lamp and blinked his eyes, trying to get used to it, and kneeled down to shake the sleeping? unconscious? person again.

Okay, I haven't written very detailed Bios like you have, but I'll post them anyway :3

-

The owner: Ginger James

Age: 26

Occupation: Owner. He helps out with cooking.

Personality traits: Patient, amused, kind, not good with emotions/comforting, doesn't talk much about private things, open minded.

Other: Grew up in a loving, stable environment with two mothers. His father ran off when he was a kid, and his mother, originally bisexual, found a female partner. He's an only child. He's always been average in school, sports, etc, but loved baking and cooking since he was a child. Meant to become a chef, but quit school after the end of his first long time relationship (with a woman) who was in his class. His mother inherited the cafè from her uncle after his death, and she's given it to Ginger.

Appearance: Average build/height. Brown eyes, messy dark brown hair. Wears some jewellery given to him by his mothers.

-

The employee: Jules Greyson

Age: 23

Occupation: Waiter. Does various work in the kitchen, such as cleaning and organizing.

Personality traits: sort of quiet, withdrawn, but not shy, observant, tidy.

Other: Jules never talks about himself, and he always thinks before he talks. Wears glasses. He is the youngest in a group of six siblings, and was mostly ignored by his parents growing up. He had trouble making friends and feels more comfortable on his own. He's straight and has had one long relationship that ended because she moved to another continent and didn't want a long distance relationship. Is studying next to work.

Appearance: Comes across as lanky/awkward because he's so tall and silent. Broad shouldered. Black, (short) wavy hair, about the length of his jawline. Has five earrings in each ear. Rather handsome.

-

Regular customer: Riley (female)

Age: 14

Personality traits: quiet, sad, but kind and friendly, lonely.

Other: She's a young girl who lives with her father, who's distant and works a lot. She comes to the cafè for company, and is on good terms with Jules, whom she likes to talk to and also has a small crush on. She's intelligent and dreams of becoming a neurologist- she's into doctor stuff and anatomy. Sometimes she stays to help Jules with cleaning after closing time. Has no close friends and feels alienated from the people her own age.

Appearance: Short, flat chested and small. Short, sandy hair with a fringe. Wears glasses. Seems very plain, wears no jewellery or accessories.

-

The cat: Tabby

Personality traits: very loving and trusting, especially of Jules.

Other: She's a grey cat that used to sneak around outside the back of the cafè, stealing scraps from the garbage. Ginger felt sorry for her, and after he took her in once after closing time she just ended up staying. She's allowed to come and go as she pleases and spends her nights outdoors. She's also very fat because Ginger spoils her.

Touch.

Yes, that was it. Cyril felt something touching him. Something warm. Or at least warmer than whatever he was laying on. Cold was the first sensation as he drifted into conciousness, and then that...thing that was touching him. He wanted to know what it was, but couldn't raise the energy to open his eyes just yet. Not when he felt so weak.

He was shaken then, and managed to identify what was touching him: hands. And since he was on something hard, he could only assume it to be a floor. There weren't many other possibilities other than cemenet. It didn't feel like cement--it was too smooth. He curled his fingers against the floor (because it was definitely a floor) and made a sound resembling a groan. He'd tried for a word, but that hadn't gone so well.

Finally, he managed to open his eyes. Just a little. They met with light, and though it was a soft light, it still burned. How long had he been out? He didn't have an answer to that question. He didn't have an answer to many questions at all. In fact, he was full of questions and no answers. His head hurt. It wasn't pleasant.

Cautious, he opened his eyes again. They were blurry. He would have moved a hand to wipe them, and to shield himself from the lamplight, but that would have involved more movement than he felt he was ready for. His head hurt too badly for him to consider moving quickly or very much at all. The only thing he was able to make out was a figure. It looked like a man.

He opened his mouth, thinking to say 'hello' and instead coughed. Hard. His head throbbed in response. He managed to move his fingers and cover his mouth--courtesy won over the pain and weakness--and he kept his gaze on the floor. After one more cough, this one far weaker than the first, he whispered, "...'lo."

"Jesus, kid, you scared me," Ginger blurted out, relieved to see that the young man- boy, he decided, suited him better- was conscious. The first thing he noticed was that the boy obviously found the weak light uncomfortable, so he moved a bit to shield him from it. "Can you sit up?"

There was a weak head movement in response, though not a nod, and Ginger put an arm around him (which was not as easy as it seemed) to help him up from the floor. To his surprise, the boy was light and not at all difficult to move once they were standing up. But then again, he looked to be nothing more than skin and bones. All things considered it wasn't so odd that he was shivering if he had no fat on his body.

"Here, have a seat." He carefully maneuvered him into a chair. "You thirsty?"

I scared him? The thought amused him, and he would have laughed had he felt able. His fingers clenched on the bottom of the chair he was sitting in, as if he were terrified that he would fall out of it if he weren't careful. Slowly, so as not to jolt his head and make the headache worse, he looked around. This place looked completely unfamiliar, but judging by the table all around he imagined it must have been some sort of restaurant.

"Thirsty," he said--though he wasn't. His throat burned and his mouth was dry and cottony. There just wasn't any thirst to keep those feelings company. He simply thought it would be better to drink something. It was possible that would kill the burn.

"Where...?" It was hard to say anything else, so he simply stopped speaking and pointed in a vague circle at his surroundings and rest his head on the cool of the nearest surface, another table.

"You mean you don't know…?" At the confused look he was getting he figured that no, the boy had no clue about where he was or why he was there. Sighing, Ginger ran a hand through his bedheaded, brown hair and offered a little smile. "I'm the owner of this cafè. The name's Ginger. I was trying to get my cat when I fell all over you. You're not hurt, are you?"

This is all very peculiar, and as much as he loves a good mystery, he'd rather it waited until tomorrow morning. Or maybe not. Some of his employees might have had a heart attack if they found an unconscious person right in the middle of the cafè.

"Hang on, I'll get that drink for you." He hurries to the kitchen, flicking on the lights, and grabs a carton of juice from the fridge. He pours a large glass and brings it back to him, smiling. "Here you go. Take it easy, alright?"

(Hehe...you switched tenses in the last paragraph. Although if you just want to write this in present tense, that's fine. I keep almost doing it anyway. And by the way, if you're still looking for something to listen to--try the band Owl City. They're pretty awesome. Their song Fireflies is really popular over here right now.)

Cyril mumbled a barely-audible "Thank you" and carefully took the glass. His grip was careful, and hard--he didn't want to risk dropping it, and considering how weak he was feeling, it wouldn't surprise him if he did let go of it.

"I'm...fine." Not that this was necessarily true. There might not have been an adjective for the way he was feeling right then. Fine didn't cover it. He was alive, but his head was killing him and he couldn't remember anything and he was intensely weak. He amended himself, "I mean...you didn't hurt me..."

He set the glass down on the table as he fell into a momentary coughing fit. How odd. There was no feeling of sickness, but he couldn't help coughing. Maybe it was just the dryness of his throat. He took the glass back and took another sip, drinking more slowly this time. That helped a little.

When he'd finished, he said softly, "Cyril."

(Jesus, sorry! I'm rping with Sophie too, you see, and it just came naturally. But um, yes, present tense would be lovely. I haven't written past tense in...months. And ugh, I think I'll kill someone if I put on owl City. I hate that Firefly song. It went non stop on the radio not so long ago. I'm going with Casey Stratton instead :3)

"Your name?" The boy nods. "Well, you already know my name, but a proper introduction is in order, I suppose. I'm Ginger James, and this is my cafè, Checkers."

The juice seems to help a bit, but Cyril still looks downright exhausted and sickly pale, and he keeps making these little faces, as though he has a migraine. If he has been knocked out on the cold floor since Jules closed the place, that's no wonder. A meow sounds, and suddenly Tabby pushes her head against Cyril's legs, purring and eager for attention.

"That's Tabby, by the way. Look, it's two in the morning, and I'm cold and tired, so if you don't mind, can we move?" That poses the a new question; where is the boy supposed to sleep? In this state Ginger can't send him out. "You can come crash upstairs in my flat for tonight, okay? I've got a guest room."

(-sad face- I love Owl City. I'm listening to their song 'Hello Seattle' right now, and my playlist consists of that, Vanilla Twilight, The Bird and the Worm, and Cave In...all by them. And in regards to the RP—two things. One, I think Cyril is going to end up in bed with Ginger tonight, just so you know. Not for anything sexual, but because he's afraid. And I'm adding to his character—he has a barcode from somewhere on the side of his neck. It's very sensitive there.)

He looks at the man hesitantly. Having just woken up in some place he has never seen before with a burning headache and here is some strange man who he certainly hasn't met before, offering him a place for the night. But then, it isn't as if he has anywhere else to go. Options are limited when you don't remember anything other than your name.

"Okay." Cyril's voice cracks a little. He pushes his now-empty glass away and nods a little. "That's...okay."

He falls quiet then. With no idea what to do, he looks at the cat by his feet. The cat is staring back, meowing insistently as it rubs against his leg. Uncertain, he reaches for it and pats its face. The fur is silky on his fingers. After a moment of this—accompanied by silence—he places his hands on the table and uses it to steady himself as he stands up, wobbly on his feet. His legs are like jello, as if he has not been on them in quite some time.

(Jesus, I'm so sorry!!! I haven't looked at my phone since....this afternoon? I was with Trevor and two of her friends earlier, and I totally forgot my phone! I'll definitely notice if you send me a mail instead or just reply here, because I'm usually up RPing all night :O How's the hotel? And yeah, sure, those are good ideas. Especially the barcode. And Ginger sleeps like the dead, so he wouldn't notice if he crept into bed with him.)

"I'll give you a hand." Ginger puts an arm around Cyril's waist after offering him a reassuring smile, and together they move slowly through the cafè. The stair that leads up to his flat above is located through the staff's combined lunch room and office. They make their way upstairs slowly with Tabby in tow; she purrs the entire time and occasionally tries to push her head against their legs.

The flat is simple, but cosy. He hasn't lived there long enough to have gathered much belongings. Those from his last place have been stashed away in the attic at his childhood home- he doesn't like the memories associated with them. The walls are all wooden, giving the place some extra warmth and that sense of an old place that he always found so charming. The sitting room is tiny with a comfortable, large couch and stacks of magazines and books everywhere, but the kitchen is of decent size, and that's what's most important. He makes Cyril sit on the couch, then goes to fetch him a comforter, a pillow, a big glass of water and some pain killers for his headache.

"Take two of these, okay? I'll be sleeping just through that door if you need anything. The bathroom is just next door," he points a thumb over his shoulder," and the kitchen is over there." He feels a bit bad for putting the kid on the couch, but it's two thirty in the morning, and he has to be up by seven thirty. "Do you need anything else before I go?" He raises an eyebrow when Tabby jumps onto the couch and curls up at one end- she isn't usually so trusting.

(It's fine, I've managed to distract myself. I just discovered a fanfic of KH that's been making me laugh my ass off. The hotel is...average. My only concern is the Internet connection, which I have and thus I am happy. ^^)

Cyril nods a little and mumbles, "No...s'fine. Thank you."

His eyes take in the flat. There is nothing especially eye-catching about the place; it is simply a space in which to live, judging by first impressions. Ginger obviously either doesn't care, or just moved in. Not that Cyril is concerned with these things as much as the ache in his skull. He gratefully takes the painkillers and swallows them with the water before handing the glass back to the man.

There is weighto n the end of the couch and he turns his head to see the cat. He almost smiles, but finds he isn't quite motivated enough. Trying not to scare her with sudden movements, he shifts himself so he is laying back, and covers himself in the provided comforter. It is warmer than he has felt since waking up, though part of him feels as if he will never be warm again. His hands are icy, and he curls them under the blanket, trying to draw as much heat as he can from himself and the space around him.

(Good, good. And god, I've read so many KH fics in my years as a fan. I keep typing his name as Cryil, oddly.)

A huge yawn pries his mouth open wide, and Ginger knows he will regret getting up in the middle of the night when morning comes. He needs his usual seven hours to function as a normal person. Shitloads of coffee might fix that, though. He bids Cyril good night, closes the bedroom door behind him and crawls back under the comforter that no longer is warm and pleasant. Though, he is too tired to be grouchy about it, and soon enough he rolls onto his stomach and snores softly, dreaming vague, uninteresting dreams that he won't remember come morning.

(The one I'm reading is pure humour--it's called 'Kingdom Hearts: The Short and Honest Version' and I love it. ...Why o.o?)

While he is exhausted (regardless of how long he was unconcious previously), cold and hungry, Cyril finds himself unable to sleep. The cat at the opposite end of the couch does not help. He is also terrified. More frightened than he has been in his memory--a memory that only covers his name and the time since being shaken awake in the cafe--and he cannot rid himself of the fear. Rather, he can feel himself shaking with it. This is a cold horror seeping throughout his form.

The fear encourages him to move. His pain is not gone, but he cannot feel it. He is on his feet, approaching the door Ginger is behind, stumbling along the way. Thankfully he finds the door unlocked. He lets himself in and stops for a moment in the threshold. His eyes are completely adjusted to darkness, and he can see the man's sleeping form. He spares a moment to hope the man will not be angry, closes the door, and crawls into the bed. Shudders continue to wrack his body, but they become weaker when he has pressed himself close to Ginger.

So he cuddles close against him. Sleep takes the boy quickly after that.

(I read a really good KH crack fic where everyone was a Greek God/Goddess, but I don't remember the name. Um, and I have no idea. My fingers rather want to type that, it seems.)

At precisely ten minutes to seven the alarm clock goes off. Noise shakes him out of his sleep, and he reaches out to shut up the goddamned thing- except, when he does, something is in the way. He pushes himself onto an elbow, turns off the blasted ringing and collapses, trying to blink the sleepiness from his eyes. It takes a couple of seconds to register that someone is sharing the bed with him, and he panics at that, because fuck, he doesn't remember bringing anyone home, and he doesn't feel hung over, so what the hell?

Then he notices that there is something familiar about the messy hair that shares the pillow with him; his mind flashes back to the little trip he had downstairs last night and the unconscious boy he found. Though, why said boy is sleeping here with him, he doesn't know. Did he give the okay for that? He can't remember, but he doesn't think so.

Ginger decides to just leave him asleep and carefully slips out of bed to go make coffee.

(Sounds like fun. Most of the KH fanfiction I read is either just plain Axel/Roxas or Zexion/Demyx. Hmm...Your fingers are unusual, dearest.)

When Cyril comes to, the first thing he notices is that his headache is gone. Completely eradicated. And he is warm. Then he registers that he is alone. He came to this bed so that he would not be alone, and yet he has woken up in that exact status. Although he supposes it is better than waking up to an angry Ginger. The last thing he wants to do is make the man who allowed him a place to sleep angry.

His hands push the blanket off of him and he exits the bed, as well as the room. The cat is still sleeping on the couch--it doesn't appear to have budged an inch from the previous evening. He smells coffee and approaches the kitchen, where he spots Ginger. Unsure of what to say, he keeps his mouth closed and waits to be noticed. During his wait, he reviews information--

His name is Cyril...something. No last name comes to him. Only Cyril. He is nineteen, or at least he believes he is. It is plausible that he may be slightly older or younger. He woke up in a cafe when the owner found him there, but how he came to be there...that part he doesn't know.He cannot recall anything previous to that, still. He'd hoped the memories would return with sleep, but evidently that has not happened. He is just as confused as he was before.

And he is shaking again.

(Some words never come out right :/ And hon, I'm exhausted, so I've got to crash. Sleep well! :3)

Halfway through his cup of coffee he turns around and nearly spills the whole thing over himself when he spots Cyril. He drags a hand over his tired face and pulls out a chair, saying "You have a knack for startling me, apparently. How do you feel? Headache gone?" He makes a vague motion for the boy to sit down. "Do you remember anything?"

They don't know each other. If not for that fact, Ginger would have felt awful for wanting to have his flat to himself again. His mothers used to scold him for his tendency to pick up stray animals and bring them home when he was a child, but those were animals. This is...well, another human being. He does not consider himself equipped to take care of him. Cyril's relatives must be looking for him.

(That is true, I suppose. And that's fine--my mum was wanting me to get to bed, so...yeah, I'll talk to you tomorrow? Love you ^^)

Cyril obliges, taking the seat when it is offered. He wraps his arms around himself to help with the shaking, but it doesn't work. For a moment he considers reaching out to Ginger, to see if touching him will make it stop the way it did before. "Headache's gone," he says in a slightly hollow voice. "Nothing hurts. But...no...I don't remember anything. I just..."

He trails off, not sure where he was going with that sentence. After a moment of squeezing his eyes closed, trying desperately to think of something--anything--to say, he tells Ginger, "Cold. It was cold. But I don't know what it was and I don't remember anything and I don't know how I got into your cafe or why I was there or...anything else. It's all blank. Uhm...but since you don't know me or anything...it's not like you have any obligation to take care of me. I can leave in a little bit, if you'll just give me the time to get a little steadier on my feet."

"Don't worry about it." The words leave his mouth before he can stop them. He gives himself a mental smack and blames it on not being properly awake yet. "I've got to work until three, possibly a bit longer, but I'll take you to the police station when I'm on my lunch break. Maybe they who you are, or someone filed a missing person's report. You should probably stop by the doctor's too, get yourself checked out." Considering that it's this early in the morning, that is one long monologue, and he takes a big swig of coffee after and clears his throat.

What is Cyril supposed to do until lunch, though? Hang around downstairs in the staff room? That seems like an awful option, because he can so very clearly see that the boy isn't looking much better than he did yesterday. Ginger is naturally inclined to trust strangers, but he is a bit reluctant about giving Cyril free access to his whole flat while he's downstairs.

"You can just chill up here until lunch, okay?" he says after a while, sighing. "Get some rest, eat a bit, you know. Do you have a fever?" It's impossible not to notice that the boy is shaking badly.

At the sound of the words 'police' and 'doctor', Cyril flinches. He isn't sure what causes it, but the moment he hears them, he cannot help it. His teeth dig into his lower lip so as to stop him from interrupting the man and letting out the shout he wants to, to tell him that no, he doesn't want to go to either of those places.

He wraps his arms around himself while he listens, and near the end he begins shaking his head furiously. "No...no fever, I think--but no...not doctors and no police...I can't." Something is prodding at the back of his mind, telling him what he needs to say--telling him what he needs to know, and feels he needs to repeat aloud--and he continues, "There's no one...no one's waiting for me...no one..." But that is a lie. He feels without a doubt that there is something out there looking for him.

Whatever it is, he'd rather it not know his location.

"Please don't take me to those places, I don't..." And then he falls into a coughing fit, induced by the suddeness with which he spoke in such a flurry.

"Take it easy there." Ginger gets on his feet and fetches him a glass of water, then stands by rubbing what he hopes is comforting circles on the boy's back. It seems to help, a bit. The boy shudders at the touch, but slowly eases up and drinks a bit, and he can't really ask for more.

What has him curious is Cyril's obvious fear of doctors and police, even if he can't remember a thing, and he thinks there must be more to it. Something from before? Trauma, of some sort? It is true that the boy is jittery and shy, so maybe he suffers from phobias. Either way it makes things a little more difficult for him. "I get it. No doctors then. You don't seem to be in any immediate danger, but you don't exactly look good either. And I'll have to phone the police and ask if they know about you."

He pats Cyril's back some more before he moves away. "Tabby can keep you company. She likes you, it seems. I'll have either Jules or Morgan bring some soup for you in a while, okay?"

Cyril eyes him reproachfully, tense and more than a little frightened. He does not want the man to leave. As of yet he hasn't decided whether or not he likes him, but his touch is so far the only thing to help with his trembling. Besides--the idea of being alone, even with the cat, does not appeal to him. Not that he can come up with a fair argument of any sort. He is drawing a complete blank.

"But..." he takes another sip of water and wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. They are teary from all of his coughing. "...nevermind..."

He would ask if there is anything he can do to help, but there are two things worrying him that stop him from doing so: the thought that perhaps he will be denied, not trusted with even a simple task, or that he will collapse while doing it. He does not feel ill, but the coughing and the shaking suggest to him that he must be, and his lack of memory doesn't bode well either.

There is no choice for him than to simply listen to Ginger.

His first thought when he sees the fear that crosses the boy's expression is that Cyril is like a little bird newly hatched from its egg; it bonds with the first person it sees, which in this case is him. He can understand that, though. It must be frightening not to know anything beyond your name. However scary the thought it, he is the only person Cyril has been in touch with yet. The only person he knows. Ginger runs a hand through his hair, concerned and uneasy about this whole ordeal, and heaves another sigh.

"If something is wrong, or you need me, I'm just downstairs. Just follow the stairs, and you'll end up in the staff room. If no one is there at the moment, just pop by the kitchen and you'll find me or one of my employees. They are all good people, so there is no need to be worried. If you need something to pass the time, I've got a huge DVD collection."

He glances at the clock, mumbling "crap" when he sees that he is running a little late. He puts away the not yet empty cup and goes to lock his bedroom door, then put on his shoes. "There is food in the fridge and tea in the cupboards. Eat whatever you feel like, and me or one of the guys will stop by in a while with a hot meal, okay? Just make sure to rest, Cyril." Then he's out the door, pausing only briefly to scratch at Tabby's head.

Immediately after the door closes, Cyril is overwhelmed by a strong sense of aloneness. Much as he is aware that he has no right to interrupt the man's daily life, or even to be here, he wants to be by him. Or maybe he just wants to be by anybody. The answer could be either and he is not certain. It is possible that anyone will have the same affect and make him stop shaking.

"Well," he looks down at the cat, "want to go to sleep with me? I don't know what else to do...movies might distract me a little, but not enough...I'll take a nap."

Tabby mewls at him something he takes to be a 'yes'. He refills his glass at the sink and takes it along with him to Ginger's room. After setting it carefully on the bedside table, where he will not knock it over, he crawls back under the blanket. Hopefully Ginger will not care that he is using the bedroom instead of the couch again. He simply likes the idea of being surrounded by the man's smell and being in the place where he last felt comforted by the sense of touch.

(He locked that door, but nevermind, XD. Oh, and there needs to be more employees than just Morgan, Jules and Cyril to make the place go around. Maybe they can have two part timers who are students? I'm looking forward to meeting Morgan!)

Downstairs in the kitchen Jules is emptying the huge dishwasher they've got. The man greets him with a solemn nod and a "hi", which he returns with a tad more enthusiasm despite how tired he is.

"You didn't forget to lock any doors last night, did you?"

Jules pauses his movement for a second, then shakes his head a raises a questioning eyebrow at him. Well, the young man never was one to talk much.

"After you called I went down here, and I found an unconscious kid- a teenager- on the floor," he says. When he puts it like that it sounds unbelievable, but Jules doesn't show any reaction beyond raising his eyebrows slightly in mild surprise. "He's resting up in my flat. Looking at him you'd think he is going to collapse any second, he seems so frail."

"I don't know how he got in, Ginger. Couldn't he tell you himself?"

"No, that's it, he can't. The kid seems to have forgotten everything but his name. Incredible, I know, but I don't think he is faking it. It feels genuine."

Jules makes a thoughtful noise and shrugs. "Temporary amnesia is not unheard of in case of head trauma," he says, ever the medically interested, and leaves it at that.

(Did he really? Well, maybe locked doors don't apply to Cyril--he ended up in the cafe, didn't he? Lol...and here's your introduction to Morgan. And sure, we can add more part timers.)

Morgan wanders into the kitchen from the front of the cafe and smiles brightly the moment he sees Ginger. "Hey, chief. What's going on? You look confused. And I know it isn't really hard to confuse you, but still--what happened this time? Jules recite some long-ass riddle that no one on this planet has the power to understand other than himself?"

He slips over to where Jules is standing and kidnaps a plate from his hands just before he can add it to the stack. "I'll take this, thanks. We have need of it up front. There's a hell of a line, by the way...Today's a good day, for some reason."

With that, he heads in the direction of the cafe's front, but stops before he is out of the room. He turns to grin at Ginger and Jules and winks, saying, "Anyone who wants to join me up front is welcome to. I'm sure I could use the help."

And without waiting for a response to anything he has said since entering the room, he returns to the other section of the cafe.

(Lol, Morgan sure talks fast.)

"Sometimes I wonder how he finds the time to breathe," Ginger comments. An amused smile touches his mouth. "Why don't you go help him? I'm sure he could use a waiter right now. I'll get started on the baking. Bring me the list of what we need to make around nine, okay?"

Jules nods and hands his apron up on the wall by the door, slipping from the kitchen as quiet and hard to notice as a shadow.

After making a quick call to Martine to ask her if she can come work a couple of hours he puts on his own crisp apron, washes his hands and forearms and checks the list Jules wrote the night before of pastries that need to be baked this morning. Thankfully it's not a terribly long list, and half of it is easy and quick to make. There is dough from yesterday in the refrigerator, and he takes out the other necessary ingredients and gets started.

Soon enough he's up to his elbows in dough, whipped cream, jam and cake decorations, all thoughts about Cyril forgotten.

(That he does. And poor Cyril, all forgotten and stuff. I have taken this Martine person captive and tied her up in my basement...not really. I've just made her one of those people that either of us can control. It is storming like a bitch here o.o Thunder and lightning galore)

The door to the cafe swings open again and again and Morgan hardly pays it any mind, much too distracted by the customers he is already dealing with to worry about the ones coming in now. He'll handle them when they reach him. For now, he will worry about the people standing right in front of his face. It is not until a perky voice calls, "Hey guys, need some help?" that he looks up and smiles in relief.

"Hey, Martine, we can always use a hand and you know it," he shouts to her, jerking his head in the direction of the kitchen. "Ginger is back there, baking. He could probably use an extra hand or five. Unless you wanna trade places with Jules and play waiter. I don't really care what you do."

Martine rolls her eyes as she sidesteps tables and customers on her way to the counter, which she ducks behind. "Morgan, when do you ever care what anyone does? You're only one of the most self-absorbed people I know. I'll go help out with Ginger. Have fun."

"I am not self-absorbed," he snorts, before turning to the next customer who has come to him to pay. "How can I help you?"

(Sure thing. Both the part timers can be ours to control. And yay, thunder storms! Not so yay for the computers, but otherwise fun. The seagulls are screeching outside :3)

When Martine comes through the kitchen door he is just about ready to put his hands on her cheeks and plant a kiss on her mouth, that's how stressed he is. His hands are full of flour and dough, though, so he keeps them to himself and flashes her a huge, relieved smile, saying, "You are my saviour, Marty. Now wash those hands and come help me with these little beauties."

She rolls her eyes, but she's smiling.

Time passes by extremely fast when the cafè is busy, and by the time he gets to take a break and dump tiredly onto a chair, he remembers that he was supposed to bring Cyril a hot meal. Cursing he gets up and goes about reheating some chicken soup he finds in the small fridge in the staff room, which he pours in a deep bowl and puts on a tray along with two slices of bread to dip in the soup.

Oddly, he doesn't see the boy anywhere when he enters his flat. Tabby isn't on the couch either, but the door to his bedroom is slightly ajar, so he figures she must have gone inside.

Oh, wait.

Is Cyril sleeping in his bed? He blinks.

Okay, he can have a talk with the boy sometime later about that, because he isn't quite comfortable with sharing his bed with a stranger, no matter how shy and cute.

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