"Filthy hippie." He smiled at her.
She waved at him in reply and waited for her chai.
They sat without another derisive word between them for a good long time. The smell of her vanilla chai wafted over to him and made him look at his empty cup of tea and contemplate getting his own, but that was when the behemoth walked in.
He was probably an even 6'3 with huge pants, flared to fit a homeless family, and a man-purse made of hemp thrown across his shoulder. His dark dreadlocks matched the little girl's and his t-shirt had Che Guevara's pretty dead boy face splashed across its front.
"Filthy hippies…" he grumbled to himself, pushing back his chair and getting the hell out before any more of them showed up like—He bumped into the 70's Leftover Chinese Food on the way out the door. The guy grinned at him with one squinting black eye—cockroaches.
"Sorry, dude," the man breathed, garbage scent scuttling across the air.
Roxas's smile weakened and he ran the hell away.
(i)She had a plastic bottle of vanilla chai tea in her hands.
Roxas stared at her in surprise, their eyes meeting as his bus went by.
She smiled at him and took a drink from the bottle.
(i)Roxas glanced up vaguely from his book as she walked in and ordered quietly. She took a seat, facing him at an entirely different table. Roxas looked her over once, taking note of her summer dress and sandaled feet and her pale blonde hair, pulled to the back of her head in a ponytail and then erupting into dreadlocks.
"Filthy déjà vu," he scowled at her.
She smiled pleasantly, wiggling slim fingers at him as she waited for her chai. Roxas didn't stay for her gorilla boyfriend to appear. He gathered up his book and left the coffeehouse.
(i)She was at his front door, dropping off his milk and his paper, only the paper was a PETA pamphlet and the milk was protein enriched chai tea and soy juice.
"Jesus, Buddha, Fuck!" Roxas cursed, slamming the door.
When he opened the door again… all was well?
(i)Roxas glanced up vaguely from his book as she walked in and ordered quietly and took a seat, facing him at an entirely different table. Roxas looked her over once, took note of her summer dress and sandaled feet and pale blonde hair pulled to the back of her head in a ponytail and then erupted into dreadlocks.
"I stopped going to that damn coffee shop!" he shouted at her.
She giggled at him in reply and waited for her chai.
He stared at her, just then noticing that he'd stood up in his rage and everyone else was staring at him. He sat back down petulantly, flipping open his book and taking a long scalding drink of his tea.
(i)She and Chinese Leftovers were standing at his bus stop the next morning. She grinned at him cheerily and took a drink of her chai. The one-eyed man beside her called out a loud greeting, voice listing with too much cannabis and the remains of an emphasis-less accent.
Roxas stared in horror and then decided he'd walk today.
(i)She was at his breakfast table.
He vanilla chai wafting towards him, all sweet and soy on the morning air.
"This is ridiculous," he told her. The déjà vu was getting stronger and stronger.
"What is?" she giggled.
"Who are you?"
She shook her head, dreadlocks slapping at the back of her neck.
"You know me."
(i)Roxas glanced up vaguely from his book as she walked past him and ordered quietly at the cart. She took a seat next to him on the bench. Roxas looked her over once, taking note of her white dress, brown sandals, and her pale blonde hair pulled to the back of her head in a ponytail and then erupting into dreadlocks.
It took him a minute to recognize her, like it always did.
Then he said, "Fuck you."
She stroked his cheek gently and replied, "You should wear something other than black, it's way gloomy, man." He flinched away from her hand, closing up his book and drawing away; she caught him by his necklace. "It makes you look like some 80's goth," she added, brandishing markers in her other hand as she thumbed his silver ankh charm.
"Yeah, so?" he retorted, intelligently.
She laughed pleasantly. "Bad vibes, man. Bad vibes."
(i)Grocery store three blocks from his house.
He bumped into Che Guevara loving gorilla man. Smelled like he hadn't washed the shirt since the last time Roxas had seen him. Smelled like he'd been in Guatemala, actually, Roxas amended.
The guy grinned at him horribly.
Roxas reached nervously for the salad package he'd come here for—
"Do you know how cruel farmers are to their cabbage?"
—and he turned tail and fled.
(i)She was in his mirror.
Grinning at him, her blonde hair the same color as the milky vanilla chai she drank from small plastic bottles.
"Morning! You could use some sunglasses, dude. Red eye."
(i)He glanced up of the window of his office and spotted them.
70's Chinese Leftovers was holding a sign, which read "LEGALIZE CANNABIS" and Che Guevara Cult Monkey's picket said "STUDENTS AGAINST THE TREACHOROUS USE OF FUR".
She stood next to them, her sign resting backwards against her legs as she drank from a little plastic bottle of vanilla chai. Her eyes darted up to his window and she smiled brilliantly, holding up her sign.
"HELLO, BRING THE 80'S BACK".
Roxas blinked at it, stunned.
It read, "IT'S TRUE LOVE, MY BOYFRIEND IS A SAGITTARIUS".
Roxas blinked again, feeling confused and freaked the fuck out.
The sign read, "HEMP LIBERATION LEAGUE: HELPING GLAUCOMA PATIENTS AND SUPPORTING HUMAN RIGHTS".
That was better.
(i)He woke up with his head in Naminé's lap.
He wasn't in his room.
Smoke wafted all around him.
Xaldin smiled down at him, his Che Guevara shirt sighing out existential pain, felt for the entire world.
"Filthy commie," Roxas coughed.
Xigbar laughed awkwardly, he said something, but his accent always got a lot worse when he'd had too much too smoke and judging by the, "Shanghai Hong Kong Egg Fu Yong, Fortune Cookie Always Wrong" that came out of his mouth, he'd had way too much to smoke.
"Guess our dreams went up in smoke," Naminé sighed, reaching out for another light. Her hand lingered against Xaldin's for far too long. Roxas frowned. The rest of the Hemp Liberation Front giggled and tittered around them.
He got up in a rush. "No, I guess our dreams went up in dreams, you stupid pothead."
(i)"And that," Roxas announced bitterly, taking a slow gulp of tea, "was the last I ever saw of Naminé."
Axel laughed wickedly, the chains around his throat clanking. He liked the Double-Ought Goth look, mostly because he had a penchant for shoplifting. Demyx, on the other hand, raised an incredulous eyebrow. It was a very graceful thing, arching beneath the fall of trendy hair over his face. He wasn't an emo faggot musician, at least, Roxas thought thankfully.
"And…how does that lead to you becoming a horticulturist?" Demyx asked, returning the conversation to where it had begun earlier in the afternoon.
Axel supplied, helpfully, "If it weren't for my horse, I would never have spent that year in college."
Roxas ignored him and explained. "I still write to my senators, saying they should legalize cannabis. Because I should know, cause I'm a horticulturist. And my ex-girlfriend can't tell me I've sold out, because she's in a cult. And she's not allowed to talk to me."
"Oh," Demyx murmured, tilting his head and looking suspiciously at Marluxia. "And that led to…?"
The man smiled back at him, pink hair and acid eyes shifting. "Different story entirely."