Opposites Attract ━━ Paul Lahote

// 𝖎𝖎𝖎. 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖊 //

     "Jacob Black, does that name ring any bells?"

  "Sure does,"comes a disinterested voice. It's muffled slightly over the truly unending stream of piss that continues to downpour on the town.                    
    "Now, you wanting a drink or not hun?"

The waitress doesn't seem to be as worried as Oliver is about the rain. In fact her blasé attitude only cements the knowledge for him that Forks is goddamn wet and that he and his humidity weak curls are just going to have to get used to it. The thought has him as miserable as the rain.

    "Hot chocolate, please," The waitress jots down his order, gum popping obscenely. "Jacob black?" He questions quietly.

The Carver Cafe waitress levels him a look as she flips her jotting pad, slipping it into a black apron tied around her front, with a rather horrid green shirt tucked into her jeans.

    Oliver eyes the name badge. "Cora, was it?" His smile reflects onto a bored looking face.

"Them Res boys. Don't have a problem with the rest of them, didn't used to have a problem with the younger boys, either, but round these parts they're trouble. Best keep your distance, now coco was it hun? Coming right up." A quick exit and she's gone. Not paid enough to chat with customers it seems and Oliver glances around the small Cafe uninterested.

      It's busy for midweek, mainly filled with scruffy-faced men who'd collectively shot him dirty looks as he ducked in to the glaringly obvious locals spot. Outsiders not welcomed, it seemed. He stood out with his bleached hair and nose ring, but like fuck was he going to start apologising for it now. At least Cora had the decency not to stare, bruised up and all.

      "There you go, anything else you want?" Oliver shook his head, reaching for the marshmallow covered cup and taking a warming sip. It's scorching hot but the burn hits his stomach comfortably, heat ebbing out into his body. A body that's beginning, albeit reluctantly, to acclimatise to the mystery that is Forks.

    Two days, two whole days, and he'd yet to warn to the town. Or the rain. The never-ending miserable downpour that hovered over the unsurprisingly boring town of Forks Washington. He'd never been one for the cold or wet, or worse, both.

       He's been given half a day of moping before Pol had declared in no soft a way that if he were to spend another moment wallowing in self pity she'd happily and none too gently kick him out her house. Or that was the censored version he'd taken from the conversation.

    "That yours?"

     The gruff voice makes him jump as he flicks his gaze up.

Moustache, warm brown eyes, Police badge. The man nods again and Oliver follows his eye line towards Veronica, blue-grey paintwork practically modelling in the rain. A work of the finest art of he did say so himself.

      "Yes, sir." He says politely, a good call, as a warmth reaches the officer's eyes, crinkles betraying his age.

   "Thought so," The officer says, "-Small town," He gestures around at the occupants. Yeah, go figure.

      "Officer Swan, but most know me as Charlie," No hand is offered, the Officer -Charlie, doesn't seem like a people person. Instead, he's straight to the point, eyeing Oliver curiously. "Sorry I didn't catch a name?"

    Oliver has to bite the 'Because I didn't tell you' that catches at the back of his throat. A gut instinct toward authority that he's not shifted since his early teenage years skating place he really ought not to have been, and instead, goes for the more polite, "Oliver. Oliver Wicca," with a hastily tacked on "sir."

    At this the officer smiles. "Wouldn't be any relation to-?"

    "Polly, yes. She's my aunt." Officer Swan's bushy eyebrows rise at this. A thought suddenly filters through him and Oliver'a brows furrow with a purpose as he innocently asks, "You're the second person to be surprised my aunt Pol has close family..."

      "Second?" Charlie takes the bait.

Oliver hides his smirk. He points towards his car.

        "Had a few problems with the old girl, died on me on my way here. Polly got it picked up by that Jacob Black? Had me go pick it up and he was surprised the family relation too."

   "Good boy Jacob," Hook, line, and sinker, Oliver thinks, "not so sure 'bout the rest of them, but Jakes a decent kid, his dad, Billy, and I go way back, even before Bella was born." Charlie continues.

     "The others?" He asks innocently, taking a sip of his cooling drink, the marshmallows and cream now a swirling melting mess. Oliver doesn't question why he's so invested, blames the small town and the need to have his nose in everyone's business.

        "Jacobs friends, mainly keep to themselves. Never had a problem with the Law so to speak and that makes them good in my books. People 'round here-" Charlie casts an eye around the Cafe and several heads turn back to their tables, "think they're trouble, but Billy wouldn't let anything untoward go on down there. Just Forks folks starting rumours, small town thing," I bet, Oliver thinks, "The boys keep to themselves and the beach."

Oliver doesn't know what the officer means by that and unsurprising Charlie doesn't elaborate, the man seems like he has a social meter and his shifting hands show it's starting to run out. There's no ring, but the man rubs absently at his band finger. Divorced then.

       Charlie gestures to his face and Oliver winces.
    "You don't look like a fighter Kid. Me and the boys down the station aren't going to be having any problems with you are we?" Oliver gulps, consciously covering the now only slightly yellowing bruises, "No, Sir." There's a beat of silence, Charlie giving him a long look.

The question was his chance to ask for help, Oliver knows. Charlie throwing him a lifeline the only way a seemingly emotionally constipated man like him can. Gruffly and slightly backhanded.

      Just as he thinks the officer will say more, Charlie simply clears his thought with a slightly awkward, "Well, alright then," before he tips his head politely and with a final call to familiar faces and a comment to him to pass on his regards to Polly, the officer ducks out into the rain.

       Oliver's mouth sours. And with a few bucks thrown on the table, he's gone before the drink has cooled, mind fixed on one place as he ducks into his car, droplets clinging to his swinging fringe.

//