**Date EDIT...I have another post going on Sept 1st sorry**

When Simon was younger he was known to loaf about early in the morning. Never the early riser as a youngster prone to cuddling with his blankets and avoiding daylight the best he could. It was in those early parts of morning that Simon could forget he was a Reid, that he was the unwanted son, and best of all forget the family he was forced to dwell with.  Those times where he could still live in a warm house even if it meant dealing with his family.

Waking up in a cold flat, now financed by a solid career rather than devilish dealings, Simon's cool blue eyes opened to greet the chill of the morning frost of his windows. It had been a couple months since he moved out of the dingy flat he was crashing in and into a nicer place. This one was no longer in knock-turn but it still wasn't as fancy as those of the middle class. There were certain places that wouldn't allow a known registered werewolf to move in for fear he might tatter the furnishings.

It was in the early morning hours when Simon made his way to Obscurus Books in hopes of getting himself a good deal.  Looking for something on the topic of his affliction wasn't always the easiest. Most of the books were edited to make them seem like the bad guys. Simon refused to believe such nonsense. Though he wasn't always known to play by the rules Simon was better than some who tried to infect the populace. Wandering through the bookstore Simon looked up and down the small cramped stacks hoping to find something that would help his boss Covi with some important research. For the past few weeks he had been up to his ears in literature and past studies on his condition in hopes of finding more ground to stand on. Covi had entrusted him and he wasn't going to let down the first person who gave him a chance. Spotting a dark leather book with a faded colored title he pulled it out and blew off the dust.

In the corners he could see that someone had been interested in the book as well but it seemed to have not left the shelf for quite some time. Curious he read the opening paragraph becoming a little engrossed in the book and paying no attention to the world around him again.

outfit

Monday. Euclid, Colette hated Mondays. Having had three cups of coffee to remain conscious (Sunday night reading until all hours had been fun, but not too kind), Colette then needed to use her coffee break to stretch her legs and get out the jitters. The bouncing of her knee had caused her to hit the desk so many times, she suspected a bruise might be there.

Puffing air from her cheeks as she walked down the Alley and people-gazed, Colette considered a second book.

It was a bad idea, of course -- one which would cost more hours of sleep and, five knuts each for each cup of coffee she'd need to consume the next morning. . .  and perhaps her dignity. She had, after all, just lost all her authority with her (in)subordinates by appearing, for once chipper in the morning.

Colette had never let reason bog her down before. And she wanted to -- had to -- know what happened in the last installment of her three-volume novel. Nevermind that it was satire (a work called More Ghosts!!!). She got drawn in to it all the same. She had, for this reason, not bought all three volumes at once, afraid that she would read it all in one go. Besides. This gave her something to do on her break rather than try to talk to people in the workplace.

She was only glad to be on good terms with Niobe and, of course, Maggie.

Moving to her aisle, she took the leathern volume off the shelf and looked covertly both ways. Did anyone suspect she was committing a vastly irresponsible act here? No one seemed to be watching except--

Oh. Him.

Their first two meetings -- well, Colette still didn't know if it was flirting or if it was . . . a certain bad taste he got in his mouth. Colette didn't have much, admittedly, to compare against except Carew, her on-and-off-and-on-and. . . boyfriend from Hogwarts. But they'd broken up half a year ago. Which means she could move past wanting him and move to hating him, as it seemed clear now they'd never get together again.

Colette didn't much bother to talk to other men, except for an occasional flirtacious conversation at a bar or a club. Something to pick up her self-esteem a little. Things didn't seem to go that way with this one, though.

Colette didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing. But she was about to annoy the hell out of him. Maybe he'd think it was cute.

Closing her book and tucking it under her arm, she moved down the row, crossing the aisle, and came up to his side, standing a bit on pointe to see what the book he was reading treated on. "Werewolves?" she asked with an arched brow.

The person he was before this moment has changed, that person's turn was long since over and he had drowned out the last of his sorry former self with a new light. Given a second chance by a woman he practically verbally accosted at random one day in a tea shop. To think he questioned her reasoning, questioned her methods, heck he even tried to discredit her and yet she kept coming back at him with the truth.

A vision of having the werewolves stand in the sun with the rest of society. Was it too much to ask for fairness for creatures? As a young man he never gave two sickles about creatures or their rights. It wasn't until he was turned that he even realized they existed. They were taught to him in school but never did he think of them as something to fear or care about. Now knee deep in the situation he was, Simon cared more than he thought he ever could about something.

Granted he still didn't trust the ministry as far as he could throw it, but he did gain trust and respect for Covi over the last couple weeks. Their constant contact and his research has given him a greater interest in the possibility of a new age, Not to mention that the wolfsbane he was able to gain access now helped keep him deal considerably for with the pain of his transformations. There were small things offered to him that he couldn't hope for before this point.

His nose was in the book, his mind else where when his hearing picked up on footsteps. Though completely engrossed in the book he was thinking of purchasing, there was a distraction.  "Werewolves?" was all he heard and he bristled a little. "Yes, Werewolves" came the reply as his eyes flitted up to the person addressing him. It was that girl from the club and the ministry hallway. She certainly had a knack for finding him when he wasn't looking for anyone to bother him. "Did you need something?" His words were not cutting they were just curious to why she approached him, "I cannot help you gain any access here either, so that cannot be the reason."

"Yes, werewolves," came the reply, crisp, precise, and cutting.

It was probably to be expected, really -- the man had never really shown any sort of kindling towards her -- but she could not help but recoil slightly at this. She felt crawly of a sudden -- damn coffee -- and shifted her shoulders, trying -- and probably failing -- to look as comfortable as possible.

"Right," she returned weakly. "I read a book on that; a biography of Marrok Fenrigh. . . but that was a long time ago and I think most of it was fictionalised to poor effect. . ." It had savoured of Lockhartian prose. Only more anguished than megalomaniacal. She hadn't finished it.

"Did you need something?"

However well-meaning (Colette had to acknowledge the usual bite of sarcasm in his voice was not there), the words were off-putting. She frowned a moment. "No. I came for the next volume of my book," she said, shrugging her shoulder, nearly causing the book to drop from its neatly tucked-away position beneath her arm. "I'm a regular patron here, so if you need any access ," she amended with a slight smile.

"I just came to say 'hi,' but if that's not reason enough then, er," she lifted her chin and play-acted the role of the diligent researcher, leaning forward as she inspected the shelf directly in front of her. With perfectly poised and rather long and spidery fingers, she tugged lightly at the binding of one -- the most accessible -- and cradled it in her arms a moment as she kept the other book from falling. She turned it about so Simon could also see the title. It was a most serious looking one. Black with silver type. She read the title aloud. "A Study of Skewts, 39th Edition. Monsieur Forlendorf." She stared at it dumbly a moment before reaffixing a very exuberant smile and showed this to him as she had the first. "See? There. Skewts."

Colette had hardly made an effort on that one, and she was hardly apologetic: it was not considered ill-manners to greet an acquaintance in a public setting. Though he had been reading. And she did come expressly to distract him. To see if she could.

Well, she had in her own way, but the feeling wasn't all that pleasant. Rolling onto the balls of her feet and then dropping back down, she sucked in her cheeks as she thought.

What was it about women that made them so bloody sure he wanted to talk to them after they give him the brush off and then try to use him. It was twice now he had felt like their interactions had failed to impress. Their first night he had been truly impressed by her looks and her spark. It was the testiness she shown afterward towards him that created a rift in what he had thought was going well. In fact he had even been defending her honor in a way to that supermodel nut case and she shot him down. That was something Simon never expected to deal with.

Girls rarely walked away from him, well in his mind that's how he built it up. Sure there were plenty of times where he had been walked out on, or left for alone. It had been rough but he got over them because they had been short instances.

The time with Colette had been more scarring because it was in front of a pompous arse he couldn't stand. Granted she left them both flat, but that was neither here nor there. So when she approached him after the incident and tried to get him to allow her access to the ministry he found it easy to turn her away. Sure it was petty but it was what she had coming to her.

It didn't take coffee to make him 'crawly' it took more. His immune system kicked into high gear whenever he had an intake of anything out of the ordinary. "So you are into Skewts, interesting surely..." Simon cocked a brow and looked at her, "So you came here for a book on creepy crawlies?" Seemed a little odd to him because there were plenty of places to go else where for books and such.

Closing his book slowly he looked on the shelf for more things on werewolves and then turned back towards her. "So did you ever gain access to the ministry that day," if she was going interrupt him he figured he would let his annoyance drop a little while to talk to her, only a little while.

Colette arched a brow. He was either 1. very dense or 2. making her work for this. If the first, she was gone. Checked out and disinterested and not buying this Skrewt book. If the second -- and she suspected the second -- this could be interesting.

"So you came here for a book on creepy crawlies?"  he inquired.

Colette did her best to look surprised but due to the amount of energy she had, suspected she might look rather giddy instead. "Shh!" she hissed, then grinned. "Do not blow my cover, Reid! I came here to talk to a man I know -- I even told him my intention but," she said " if he didn't pick up on it, I've got the perfect alibi." She shifted the book in her arms.

At the direct question of the Ministry, Colette frowned momentarily. "I got better. A personal correspondence. The result of which you probably saw in the editorial the next day?" She asked, glowing with pride at her handiwork. An account from THE Tamis Raynor. Well, of sorts. Still, it had been more than any other reporter had gotten from her; and Colette wasn't even a reporter. But Niobe had appreciated it, and that was gold in her book.

Simon was neither dense or foolish enough to play into the game too easily. When giving into a woman who has not only blown him off but tried to use him to get further into a place she didn't belong. There was a reason he had brushed her off at work, however outside of his place of employment he still found himself interested in her.

In fact he had been truly interested in her that night, but that ruddy puff Arius opened his ruddy mouth which caused Simon to react. Though he might have been a little out of line, he would never admit it.

"You must explain, what does this man have to offer you that I have to keep my voice to a whisper." Granted he was assuming this mystery man was himself. "Perhaps he is not as all that receptive, you should give him a better clue or just speak your words out loud and clearly. " Cocking his head again to the side he took her in once more, she wasn't dressed as she was that night at the club however that didn't diminish her appeal or attractiveness in his eyes.

She seemed rather upbeat and pleased with herself  over the entry, so of course he had to knock her down off that cloud for fun.  "I am sorry to say for your sake,  fail to read the paper. I find that it is generally full of bullocks," his voice was not cutting more playful now that his annoyance had shifted. "Was it a good article?" He asked with a soft yawn feigning boredom. The book that he was now holding seemed to almost lose interest instead of attempting to read it, he slipped it under his arm grabbing up another with every intention to purchase them as soon as he made his way to the exit.

"You must explain, what does this man have to offer you that I have to keep my voice to a whisper."

"That is what I am trying to figure out," she said with a sly smile. She didn't need to whisper, no. But she hadn't wanted any more of his questions, either. "Shush" could be at once flirtatious and censorious. So she thought. Perhaps she wasn't doing as well as she had previously estimated. At the invitation to speak loudly and clearly -- well, Colette could take a risk -- she was about to make an answer when his retort stopped her.

He was proud of himself, insulting her profession; he thought it was clever to keep himself entirely disinterested in the topic at hand or the person in front of him. She could not fault him for his sense of humour, but she was far from amused. Her smile wavered visibly. Why would he do this? She had been genuinely excited to share an experience of her happiness and he seemed content only to demean it. It was what he had done to Arius Tristisa -- that had been what had upset her. And this? This was not flirting. This was just insulting and calling it wit. If she were back in her Hogwarts years, she would have done her best to give him a bloody nose by now. Things had changed somewhat. The anger wasn't there. But the sick turning of her stomach she felt now was no more desirable. And it couldn't just be the coffee that made her heart pound like this. She was frustrated, yes.

As he yawned and reached for another book, she too put her book back on the shelf, hearing it crack against the back of the bookshelf as she did so with a bit too much gusto. "It was an editorial," she corrected softly. "And I can't rightly be the judge of it. Though I suppose to your eyes, it would have been bullocks. I'd have expected a Ministry worker to have kept up on things, though. You already wade through so much other paper."

She was quiet a moment, just looking at the bookcase, feeling as though she might say anything -- a curse, a pick-up line, an insult . . . damn coffee. She thought back to his previous offer and returned to look at him levelly, though her fingers fidgeted with her copy of More Ghosts!!!. "I had thought," she said in a clear voice, "you could offer me a conversation which would not result in one of us leaving, feeling insulted. But I think I'm looking in the wrong section for that," she said, looking up at the ceiling sign that read "Magical Beasts."

Certainly not Magical. And even calling him a Beast was far too much of a stretch. "But I got what I came in here for," she said, shrugging her shoulders and lifting More Ghosts!!! slightly. "I'll let you find yours."

Everything with this girl was a bloody riddle. If she thought it was cute she was sorely mistaken. Originally he thought she was quite fetching, and was genuinely intrigued but as time wore on they seemed to get annoyed with one another so easily that he didn't know what to make of it. The girl with spark and fire had seemed to dim since their first meeting. That night she could have set the world ablaze with the wit and words pouring off her very tongue. Now standing there it was as if she was playing with the notion of toying with him. Was it that funny, did she find it comical?

Simon found the frustration to be more profound with the added drama of a steady job. If it wasn't for his constant go go schedule he might have been less agitated but that didn't seem to be the case. His wit was not the problem here, she wanted one thing and he clearly wanted another. Simon was a tough man to sway in another direction once his mind was all made up about someone. In regards to the shiny glossy man they had both been unfortunate to spend their first meeting with, it seemed that he had tainted the view of one another in eachother's eyes.

The thought of her being superficial like Arius made his tongue go numb with disgust and displeasure. To think a thin veneer would make someone go batty like that, maybe he wasn't such a good judge of character at first glance like he had always assumed.

'I'd have expected a Ministry worker to have kept up on things, though.'

Simon's eyes narrowed a little, "Not all of us have the time to read articles in the paper." Clutching his book on Werewolves he felt his fingers dig into the spine a little. It was well known by most people with the common courtesy to ask that he was a werewolf, but the subject of his position was still a sore spot. She unfortunately for her had hit that tender area with her words. "We don't always have the luck of having stable jobs for much of our lives for circumstances outside of our control," this was of course reference to his own situation. Too proud to admit he was wrong to assume things about her, Simon fooled himself that he was content in just walking away.

'You could offer me a conversation which would not result in one of us leaving, feeling insulted. But I think I'm looking in the wrong section for that'

Letting out a deep sigh he released the book a little from his death grip, "What did you wish to discuss? Perhaps something on a less dramatic nature?" Maybe if they were out of the dark stacks of a bookstore and in the light it wouldn't be so full of tension. "Perhaps first step is to get out of this aire and into a new one..." With another glance over what the shelves had to offer, Simon found himself settling on the book in his clutches and that was all. With a few strides he was walking towards the clerk, leather covered hand fumbling for coins.

"Not all of us have the time to read articles in the paper," he said testily. He did not like her, she was certain now, and she was beginning to feel quite the fool.

"I just thought that to stay informed--" she began to defend before cutting herself off with a sigh, tapping her foot. This would all be so much better if she were on decaf. As it was, she had a stomach ache and the desire to scream in frustration.

Instead, she smoothed her hair and wrapped it around her knuckles once before tossing the coil over her shoulder. He continued.

"We don't always have the luck of having stable jobs for much of our lives for circumstances outside of our control."

Colette frowned thoughtfully at this, contemplating. "Well, Mister Reid, I'll be honest in saying I don't know who your 'we' and 'us' might be, but whoever you all are" -- Colette did know, of course, that Simon was at least speaking of himself, perhaps generally to find some strength in numbers -- "I am glad you all do make the best of things. And I'm glad at least you have time to read something," she said, indicating the books.

There. It couldn't be all that bad. But the way his eyes had darkened at that. . . She had upset him, but, she reasoned, not from any carelessness of her own. A simple ignorance. She didn't know much of the man. And he seemed very particular; sensitive. One was bound to make missteps for a time until they got to know a person.

There was a momentary silence which filled the space of several hours to Colette. Finally, the words came.

"What did you wish to discuss? Perhaps something on a less dramatic nature? Perhaps first step is to get out of this aire and into a new one..."

Her smile grew somewhat miserable at this. "I am sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you. I don't want to discuss anything you don't want to discuss," she surrendered. There was really no reason to fight for this, she decided. Fighting for something, Colette realised, usually just entailed fighthing. Which made it far easier to fight about something. And it was a Monday, and oh God she just her heart to stop beating so erratically.

She'd burn that coffee machine. Torch it. Yes.

"How about you buy your book, I buy mine and. . ." she looked toward the register, "we can shake hands with a farewell. I don't think we've ever done that before. It'd be a nice finishing touch." She began to move to the register. "Or," she offered over her shoulder, "I buy my book, you buy yours. And you -- if I am judging the life of a Ministry worker correctly -- will likely need to be somewhere soon. And I could use a walk before I sit at my desk again." She stretched her neck either way and rolled her ankles as she stood at the counter  as demonstration of restlessness to prove this point.  "Really," she said, "either is fine by me." Of course, she had her preference, but she would not say as much. She could, she decided, accept either with face.

"Well, Mister Reid, I'll be honest in saying I don't know who your 'we' and 'us' might be, but whoever you all are"

A deep almost exasperated sigh left his chest. When clutching a book about werewolves in a store for the obscure reader hadn't clued her in there really was no hope for them to continue this charade further. If the girl wanted to talk to him she had an odd way of showing it. To think ducking out when she might actually get herself a real story. Not much of an investigative reporter if she couldn't clue into the signs around her.

Simon found the coins he had been fumbling for and handed them to the cashier. The gloves he had one were the same worn leather ones he wore wherever he went, generally if needing to pay for things. To think the wizarding world was against his kind as it was, and to put silver in their coin system was just cruel. Simon would suggest a paper system like the muggles but that was demeaning to those who were of wizarding blood and the fact that their coin system was centuries upon centuries old on a tried and true method it stood the test of time.

So ever suffering for lack of a better term, Simon paid with his painful money forced to wear protection to do the most mundane of tasks. Stupid bloody silver.


"I buy my book, you buy yours. And you -- if I am judging the life of a Ministry worker correctly -- will likely need to be somewhere soon. And I could use a walk before I sit at my desk again."

Handed the receipt he looked over at Colette again, "That was my secondary suggestion. When I asked if you wished to talk in a different aire I was leaning towards perhaps tea or something more on neutral ground and not near sensitive subjects." The book in question was what he was referring to. Simon was sensitive about his Lycanthropy but he was not ashamed, he would be damned before he felt shameful for it. It should be the rest of society who was ashamed for how they treated his kind.

As the years went on and Simon aged in his affliction he found a brotherhood, or pack mentality forming for him and his kind. They were united by a bond of suffering and pain no one else could imagine, if they did perhaps they would lay off.

"So how about it, tea?" Simon tried his best to sound friendly even if he was still bristling over private thoughts.

At the sigh, Colette also shifted her weight, sighing. What the Styx had she done now?

Alright. Just overreacting, Colette told herself as she moved the counter and paid. She watched Simon pay as well, palming the coins very carefully with his, with his gloved hands. Ah. In a moment, the sighs, the "we," the clipped responses. . . But how the deuce was she to know? Legilimency, Divination -- all beyond her. She'd never had the patience.

She'd bought a book on damsels haunted by ghosts. Well, a satire. But it was not the least bit indicative that she was neither damsel nor ghost. Nor occasionally cross-dressing servant that featured prominently in volume two.

As he referred to the sensitivity of the book, Colette drew her lips slightly together. He was offended because first, she hadn't guessed what he was. Then, he was offended because he assumed that if she knew, she would be judgmental. But really, to judge that she was bigoted was also judgmental, wasn't it? This was all a puzzle and Colette, now somewhat aware of what might be bothering the man -- though she would not and could not in her own good conscience take accountability for his overly sensitive nature, provoked at near-nothings -- endeavoured to bring it back around.

But she didn't like this matter of the book hanging heavily in the air. Elephants in the room, and dancing about them, felt a lot like surrender. If they could not address the issue, it would always be there, lurking in a broody mess threatening to break free. And if they could work through it, perhaps he'd see that there was no need for him to be ashamed or nervous. At least not around her. He'd been a bit of a prick, but not at all attributable to his lycanthropy from what she could tell. It was not productive to act as though lycanthropy did not exist. It did; Colette was not about to ignore truths. And if he was a werewolf, well, then it made up a part of who he was. It was an identity. And she was not going to negate that identity.

She glanced at the book before it was bagged to catch the title again. She had heard of it, after all. Colette hadn't been paying much mind to the particular books he was grabbing, instead trying to grasp the conversation at hand. "It's a very good book," she persisted in a mild voice -- which was never one which came to Colette without the most concentrated of efforts--keeping her face open, unguarded, and honest, a smile firmly fixed. "At least, my good friend recommended it. Fillin's read a lot of those autobiographies, so I usually trust his recommendations."  If he was a werewolf, he'd know Fillin O'Hare. And she and Fillin were, frankly, thick as thieves. That had to count for something in his book. Though it hadn't done much for Arius Tristisa, who had also been Fillin's good friend. She'd not be deterred. She furthered, "It's on my to-read list, actually. You'll have to let me know how it is." Well, it was technically book 67, but she'd bump it up if this conversation went well.

And if it didn't, perhaps there was something in that book that could tell her why.

Keeping the smile affixed -- because she was now determined it would stay there regardless -- she added, "Tea sounds wonderful," ignoring the fact that she'd much rather walk or run. But they made decaf tea. . .

Perhaps assuming anyone who truly paid attention to the media, or knew how to follow the signs would have realized why he was so edgy on the subject. Granted Simon was not ashamed of who he was. The only shame he felt was related to his family and lack of support he felt in that respect. His fears of being out casted for his lycanthropy died long ago, he no longer gave to sickles what people thought of him because of his condition.

Having someone like Covi in his corner gave him the confidence to hold his head up high and spit in the eye of those who wanted to down talk him and his kind. There was a fraternity, a brotherhood among the Werewolves he had encountered over the years. A bond formed by the people who found themselves kicked on by a society which was supposed to open their arms to the down trodden.

Maybe that was his reason for being suspicious or disgusted by people who were foreign to him. Give them the same courtesy they so graciously have shown him over the years, none at all.

Fillin O'Hare, the name struck a cord. They didn't spend much time together but he knew him. "Oh did he suggest that reading material for you?" Simon's words were not cold or flat, he kept them light, well as light as he could. Simon wasn't exactly known for his interpersonal conversational skills, he was going out on a limb with pleasantries as it was. Simon has no one to blame for that personality flaw but himself, he could have made strides to walk the line his mother and father laid out for their black sheep child. Maybe then he could have gained favor in their eyes and given a real chance at being something other than the black splotch on the Reid family tree he grew into.

Simon was always different, and even now he found himself still at odds with the world. This time he had back up, and he was going to use it.

"I will be certain to fill you in on the details," he replied trying to let the chip on his shoulder melt so he could actually enjoy their discussion however brief it may become. "So tea, any shop you like in particular?" Simon allowed his blue eyes to look her over for a second before opening the door of the shop and allowing the wind to whip in on him in the process. A plethora of scents filled the aire, he was enjoying the different smells which wafted into his nostrils as he waited for her to follow him towards the exit.

She could not judge for certain how her reference to Fillin had gone over with the man in front of her, so she kept her response neutral. "He did recommend it. I like reading and it seemed to come up in conversation from time to time."

Well, he hadn't stormed away. That was a good sign.

"So tea, any shop you like in particular?"

Colette smiled brightly at this, the change in his demeanour pleasant and, she had to admit, unexpected. People did not usually catch her off-guard as she usually assumed the worst. And they seldom disappointed. Still, she could not account for this change. Didn't see how it could have been anything she had done and yet was afraid that if he had been his mood switching, she had a very moody sort of a werewolf on her hands.

But she did realise that she was trying. And it was obvious. He might have noticed it. He might have appreciated it. Now wouldn't that be something? As he looked at her with very blue eyes, Colette felt a burst of nervous energy that was not attributable to coffee.

"Let's see," she said, responding to the matter at hand. She could not just stand in the middle of Diagon, gawping at a pair of blue eyes. "I like to try a variety of different shops, really." Her mind went to the place she usually frequented: Sheep's clothing, run by woman named Agatha who had a pet lamb that lorded over the place like a raja. Not a good place for present purposes.

"There is one just off by the confectioner's that I like. Old men always playing wizard's chess. A bit geriatric, but wonderful for people watching." She was rambling just a bit ad so she took the opportunity to clear her throat and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "That is, of course, unless you'd rather hang with the under seventy crowd." She smirked. "Overrated, in my opinion."

This was different, the two of them were getting along. Neither was complaining or accusing the other of terrible things. Maybe Simon was going a little off his rocker, it was a twisted crazy world out there. This wouldn't be the first time that he had been caught off his footing in an assumption about others, and as the day drew on he hoped it wouldn't be the last.

Looking at Colette with fresh eyes, Simon decided to give the woman a benefit of the doubt not many tended to get from him. With the way much of his life had been going, Simon found that people were rarely to be trusted, and even rarer did they pull through.

There were a lot of things that he and Colette would have to discuss before he found a comfort level, though it wasn't all one sided.

"Tea then?" His voice holding a strange cheery tone, as he gave her his devilish dog smile. "Off we go..." he turned on his heel as they exited the store heading in the direction of the shop.