One on One RP anybody?

(Oh neat! That’s alright, have fun!)

“Certainly,” he returned the amused grin. He let his posture relax into a looser gait alongside Jack. “Out of curiosity, how might one fix a paradox? Do you have an origination or business to help repair them?”

“That’s just splendid,” he grinned excitedly, “Has anyone from the past you traveled to ever joined the Corps? Or is it exclusively for your time period?” He glanced forward very briefly to gage how close they were to the store: not much farther, about 5 more minutes at the most.

“Ooh,” he reached up to touch his chin thoughtfully. He knew he wouldn’t be able to join; it wouldn’t be practical, and he didn’t want Jack to be disciplined for telling him about the time travelers. But even just to imagine being a time traveler—it was a nice thought. How much could he learn about engineering by traveling more than once or twice with Jack? “Does every member have a Tip?”

“Ooh,” Lincoln grinned, “For hypothetical purposes, If I had one…” he rubbed his jaw with the hand already on his face, “Hm, maybe Pip? To match with yours?” Loose laughter bubbled from his chest, “Tip and Pip.”

Lincoln side-glanced back over to Jack with an admiring smile set in the corner of his mouth. “Indeed-“ was all he could manage to say. His mind was anywhere but the conversation now. He’d only known this man for less than a day, but he felt an attraction to the personality he gave off, and of course his appearance. The suit…his eyes…the general look like he was holding something back: he couldn’t help but be spoony on Jack, and he wanted nothing more than to continue to get to know him. Maybe he could buy him a drink at the bar after they picked up what they needed for Tip.

Lincoln’s gaze travelled up to Jack’s hair, silently admiring it again with the same smile on his lips. He pulled out a watch from his pocket to check the time, “We’re almost there, but it may be a bit early in the day for my friend,” his smile turned sheepish, apprehensive “Would you like to get a cup of coffee first?” It might not exactly be a date, but it was worth a shot to spend as much quality time as he could with him.

Lincoln loosened the scarf around his neck to let in a little air. “There’s a quaint, old coffee shop on the other side of that corner,” he gestured. “It’s called ‘Dutch’s Brew Coffeehouse.’ It’s been in business since before I was born—definitely longer than I’ve lived here.”

“Off we go,” Lincoln pulled the scarf closer around his neck again once he was sufficiently cooled off. The worst thing about winter was being simultaneously cold from the weather, and hot from the layers of clothing at the same time. Thankfully the walk to the coffee shop was brief. He pulled open the door, which prompted a little bell above the frame to announce their arrival.

A middle-aged man with a receding hairline—presumably a manager, if not owner of the shop—looked up from wiping down one of the tables. He gave a curt “Good morning, gentlemen,” before returning to his work.

“Good morning,” He peeled off his scarf and coat, draping them over his arm while he scanned the room for a place to sit.

The shop was empty with the exception of a young couple sharing a humorous chat in the corner. The woman laughed while the man crossed his legs and leaned forward with his arms crossed on the table. He had the widest smile while he talked.

The atmosphere felt very similar to how it would when it was founded in the mid 1800’s: the main coffee bar against one of the walls, a fireplace, a few tables scattered randomly, and various portraits of famous figures hung everywhere one might look.

Lincoln sank down into a chair at the table closest to the window. He peered over at Jack and smiled again— he loved it when he did that with his hair— "Your hair must have a mind of its own, getting messed up so often," he attempted a playful smirk, but it appeared more sloppy and lopsided than he intended.

"Very true," Lincoln chuckled along, lifting a hand to bury in his own loose curls, "Trying to get my hair to do anything but poof is an ordeal." He leaned forward on the table, "It's a struggle getting ready for any sort of formal event…not that I go to many of them," he added the last comment a bit softer from his thoughts.

"Partly, yes, they are boring," Lincoln chortled. He looked off to the side at his question, wondering how much was socially acceptable to admit to a stranger. No, he wasn't a stranger, he was Jack. He looked back up. "Well, being biracial, I didn't get very many opportunities to 'fit in' in America, even after I moved in with my well-off grandparents. Nobody really…" he searched for the word, "…saw me the same? I don't know for sure. I think the people and their judgements were worse in America, but when I moved here with my father's inheritence to pay for college, I didn't have enough money to buy myself the status of aristocracy. Or the family history, even. So I don't get invited to many parties."

He spoke with a generally positive tone, omiting bits and pieces of his story he felt would make the mood more solemn, "I've just gotten used to being the outsider, and I've made peace with it."

Lincoln shook his head, "No-no, it's, it's fine. I'm not offended," he attempted a reassuring smile, "I don't get to talk about it much, I think it helps—as long as you didn't mind hearing about it. I didn't mean to say so much.'

“Good, I appreciate it,” Lincoln exhaled with relief, but his mind trailed back to Jack and romantic relationships when he mentioned dating. He sat up a little straighter. Dated, past tense. That gave him some hope, but not quite enough. “Out of…pure curiosity..are you dating anyone now?” He bounced his knee, tapping the heel of the foot against the ground. “Not that it matters or anything, of course.”

“Ha! Yeah,” he crossed and uncrossed his ankles a few times. “There’s this girl I know, a Uh sister of one of my classmates. It seems like she would take a liking to you.”