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Mearc's chosen to invite Sturm to Amigo's Bakery for this talk, because you know what, he wants a churro. And maybe some other desserts too. And they serve coffee, and he's sure Sturm will find something to enjoy as well. He's still sporting the remnants of sunburn, a distinct bluish tinge on his skin that makes it a bit harder to see the freckles, though not too much harder.
He's already waiting in the line when Sturm arrives. Back to the t-shirt and cargo pants combo for everyday wear, and the clips that hold his hair out of his face are a sparkly purple today instead of plain bobby pins.
It's been an exhausting day for Sturm. Though, to be fair, most of the days are exhausting here lately, so it's not too out of the ordinary when you think about it like that. She shows up wearing a DIY tank top with some metal album art on it, ragged jeans, workboots, her pair of necklaces (the arrowhead, and the little sapphire gremlin) and a frown. She ducks under the door frame, shoving her hands back into her pockets, and joining Mearc in line.
"Don't tell anyone I have a sweet tooth, or I'll have to take you out." She's grumbling, of course, but there's the faintest hint of a wry smirk before she goes back to scowling. "Glad to see you're on your feet again..."
"I'm buying, by the way." This said as he just casually leans against her. "Maybe split a plateful of mini-cannoli, with a churro on the side for me?"
"Yeah, I'm up for that," the Jotunn agrees - tucking her wallet back into the back pocket of her jeans. "Never one to turn down free food." She peruses the menu, humming to herself through pursed lips. "I think I'll get a pecan muffin, too. Cup of coffee, probably. How'd you hear about this place?"
"One of my clients set up a first meeting here. I need to bring Lux on a date sometime, too." He smiles fondly. "Hummingbird sure likes their sweets. Coffee sounds good. They do a cuban-style latte with cinnamon, if you're into that."
As they reach the head of the line, Mearc places the order and pays in cash.
"I prefer my coffee with no frills because it's cheaper, but I'll branch out a little since you're buying." Sturm tips up her shoulders. Why not?
She leads Mearcstapa over to a table in the corner -- so she can place her back to the wall -- and then she sinks into the chair comfortably once she's impervious to sneak attacks. Y'know, 'cause Winters gonna Winter. "It's a nice little place. I bet they'd like that."
Mearc allows her to take that seat, even though facing the door is his preference. This is another small sign of his trust in her. "Either that, or I bring cupcakes home, so I can do lewd things with the frosting. Either way."
Sturm nods at this admission, her face in impassable barrier to whatever true reaction she may have had to hearing that news. There's a moment, and she fires off a text message. Probably unrelated. "That's also an option, yeah." Then she sets her phone aside - out of comfortable reach.
He smirks. "Anyway. I'm about to get really nosy, and you're allowed to tell me to stop and fuck off at any time."
"Okay," she nods slowly. "Go on."
"When did you stop drinking?" Mearc is, in a way similar to Teagan, very hard to tell if he's making eye contact. But he does definitely seem to be focusing on Sturm's face.
"2016," she grumbles. There's a shift in her posture as she begins to gather what the conversation will consist of. Despite the shift, she doesn't seem standoffish - a testament to the trust she has in him. "Why?"
He doesn't immediately answer that question. "Did you enter any twelve-step programs, or get support when you decided to stop? If so, did you find them to be particularly helpful?"
"No, I didn't - well, not in the traditional sense." She chews on her bottom lip. "I quit cold turkey - which is dangerous - and there was someone back in Texas who acted in a role similar to a sponsor." Beat. "...but if I were trying to quit today, I probably would've attended a program. Trust comes a little easier to me these days, and I don't feel the need to carry it all myself."
Their order number is called, and Mearc stands to grab the pastries and coffee, carefully carrying everything to the table before setting it down.
"Do you know of a good program in town?"
"Depends. My definition of good might not be someone else's definition of good. What works for me may not work for someone else." There's a pause, and she yoinks the pecan muffin as soon as it's within reach. "I'm going to guess you're not asking me these questions for yourself, yeah?"
"I don't think my personal relationship with alcohol is that bad. But I wouldn't mind avoiding it in the future, if that would help Jack." Mearc sighs. "We had a bit of a talk, over vacation. I don't think he spent a single hour of our time in Hawaii sober, Sturm. I'm worried, and I've been trying not to say anything, trying to be really careful with his feelings, but this is a problem. He told me that...he needs help getting help. I didn't know who else to talk to. I hope you understand."
Sturm makes a soft little hrrrm noise as she bites into her pastry. "It's good that you're willing to stop drinking to support him. It's really hard - especially early on - and almost no one beats it without a support network of some kind." She takes a sip of coffee. "... and of course I understand. This is exactly the kind of problem I have the bandwidth to help solve."
Mearc picks up one of the cannoli. "Well. It's not like Jack isn't going to have support. It's just...everything else that's had. From what he said, he was doing harder stuff than drinking before his time Over There. I...it's not a problem I have a frame of reference for. I've never even smoked weed."
"Yeah, but having friends and family to cheer you on is different than having someone that's going through -- or has gone through -- what you're dealing with." She shrugs. "Alcohol is a pretty pervasive cultural... thing, right? It's hard to thrive in a world where the default choice - both in media, and in everyday adult socialization - is to drink." Beat. "So. Support. If he kicked a narcotics habit, he's probably already familiar with the way most rehab programs work - and I'd suggest finding a similar one, if possible."
"Well. No. When we talk about him kicking the habit, his 'program' was...time spent Over There, so similar ones are Not Going To Happen." He grimaces.
"Oof," Sturm - a rare sight - flushes a dark blue, looking very embarrassed at her suggestion. She stuffs the rest of the muffin into her mouth to avoid having to say else about it.
"So, he doesn't have familiarity with programs or getting good help. He has experienced withdrawal in the worst of circumstances. He's clinging to alcohol because it seems like a 'safe' alternative. What do we do about that?"
Sturm finishes chewing her muffin, and then washes it down with a swig of coffee. "So," she shrugs. "Rehab. Like, a legitimate program." Beat. "It's not just that he'll need help safely detoxing. If, like, when he's sad, he buys a couple of forties and chugs those motherfuckers? It doesn't matter if he breaks his physical dependence, he'll just fall back into the hole next time there's something to be sad about. True recovery requires changing the ways you think, feel, and behave - and for that you need like. A program? Or a therapist who specializes in addiction."
"Is a program going to be a safe place for one of us, or is it going to feel too much like being imprisoned?" It's a careful, thoughtful question.
"I don't know. I haven't gone through it, but I know it's generally in-patient, and medically supervised, so." She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. "I think a good option would be to maybe have him ask Petra - or one of the other medical-type Lost - to look after him while he goes through the detox part. I don't know how they'd do it, but I'm sure one of Us would know how to help him without causing more harm." There's a long pause. "As for the psychological and behavioral aspects... talk to a Spring, maybe?"
If this weren't a serious conversation, Sturm might relish the opportunity to say that to Mearcstapa.
Well, okay. Maybe a little. As a treat.
Mearcstapa breaks into warm laughter at that comment, nodding. "Probably Eugene, but yes. I'll talk to a Spring about it. Okay, that's a good place to start. Thank you, Sturm. I hope you understand why I didn't want to do this over the phone."
"Nah, I get it." Sturm shrugs, yoinking a mini cannoli off of their shared plate of pastries. "Not that you need an excuse to hang out with me in person. It was easier to coordinate shit over text messages during the Hue, but that doesn't have to be 100% of our interactions, yeah?"
Then she sticks out her tongue - showing off her half-chewed pastry - because she's a fucking gremlin.
"I mean. I'd like to hang out more, definitely. Visit all the sweet shops in town in secret. Sneak you in so nobody finds out how much of a sweet tooth you have." He laughs, and takes one of the cannoli to suck the mascarpone out from the middle slowly.
Because he's no less a gremlin.
"Fuck yeah, that'd be dope." She offers him a broad grin - perhaps the first he's seen from her - before retreating behind her coffee cup. "Oh," a grumble. "... and if Jack needs someone to talk to? He's got my number, yeah?"
"Can I tell him explicitly that this is something you've dealt with?" That's Mearc, always double-checking his information flow. Making sure he's not over-sharing anyone's business.
"Yeah," she nods, reaching for her phone - which has just begun to play a notification tone. The little twinkling of a glass wind chime. "Feel free - and let him know that I'll do whatever I can to support him."
He nods. "Thanks, Sturm. You're my hero."
The churro, then, is unceremoniously dipped in the coffee before he bites the tip off, giving her time to deal with her phone.
There's an odd flash of something on Sturm's features - and she looks up from her phone at the comment for just a second before returning her eyes to the screen.
The chime plays a few more times, and then she sets the phone aside - stealing another cannoli. "Teagan had a... weird day, so I'm taking pastry orders," she explains.
Mearc watches her quietly for a moment, then glances at the pastry case. "I recommend the tres leches cake, if anyone's into that. And of course, the churros. And you could get a cake and have them write something on it, if it's the sort of weird day that calls for that. They don't ask questions if you want something weird written on the cake."
This might be from experience.
"They don't want to make choices right now, so I think I'm gonna get a little bit of everything. Even if it's not something they want, we've got a house-full so I'm sure they'll get claimed by someone." There's a pause, and she quirks her eyebrow. "Noted. So. What weird thing did you have them write on your cake?"
"It was a joke cake for Wren after one of our first jobs together, where she convinced a security guard to let her into a venue because her pregnant sister was in there and needed her medicine. I think it was something like 'Thank You For The Metformin'. With pink roses." He grins. "I'm going to bring home that cupcake with the neon pink frosting for Lux and some tres leches for Jack."
"Somehow I don't think that 'Sorry Your Dog Came Back To Life And Made Your Head Explode A Little Bit, But Hey At Least You Have A Dog Again?' is going to go over well today, but I'll keep that in mind for the future. Y'know, when they can laugh at it." She nods slowly, and the fact that she days all this with absolute seriousness honestly just makes it funnier. Even though it isn't.
"...I'm not going to ask, that doesn't seem prudent." He finishes his coffee, and stands to get in line to pick up his take home pastries and throw the cup out. "Maybe when you can laugh at it, too, you'll tell me?"
"Maybe," Sturm shrugs - finishing off her cup of coffee. "Honestly, I might've said too much with just that, but if they're okay with me talking about it - and we reach the point where we can laugh about it - yeah."
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