William had inspected the tickets carefully. He had pinched himself several times to confirm that he wasn't playing a role in some absurd dream- as he was often subject to the most bizarre of fantasies. He had tirelessly asked George, over and over, to the point where even his patience had worn thin. All evidence pointed toward a simple reality: he had won free admission to the première of already world-famous film, Blood and Circuses. The movie's premise had intrigued William from the get-go; it centered around a travelling circus with a murderer in their midst. The cast was stellar, the pre-reviews were rave, and it was an assured blockbuster. William had known the première would be held in Toronto, but he had also known he hadn't a hope of going. It was far too expensive, and besides, he'd reasoned, spending such extortionate amounts of money merely to be the first to watch a film and have the opportunity to glimpse its stars was illogical. Even when George had entered both of their names into an online contest, he had never expected to win. Thousands of people would have entered the contest themselves, and there was no doubt some would find a way to put their names in more than once. What were the odds of being chosen for those tickets?

But, then, what had been the odds of getting that peculiar phone call, just several weeks ago? There were millions of phone numbers in the world; why had his been the one that had been accidentally dialed?

William pressed his fingers against his temple, feeling, to his consternation, a dull pain begin to form there. He slouched in his seat and sipped at the tea set before him gingerly, wincing as it scalded his tongue and raising his head to look around. His phone buzzed, but he studiously ignored it, as he had been doing for the past few hours. William was tired of batting away George's fervent gratitude, even though it was well intentioned. In his eyes, it was only fair that he take his roommate along to the opening of the film- after all, if it hadn't been for George, he would certainly have never won the contest, as he'd have never even entered. For a brief period of time, William had considered taking Susannah and had felt tremendously guilty about choosing George over his beloved sister upon his decision. Susannah had caught wind of this and had waved it off, tactfully arranging a theatre date with her friend Anna on the very same night. William had seen right through her, but he was grateful nonetheless and quite reassured. He had even attempted to pay for her theatre ticket, but his sister flat-out refused to take the money he offered.

"I'm not a charity case, Will," she'd snapped, eyes flaring in a rare show of temper, and then her voice had softened considerably. "I appreciate the gesture, really, I do. But… Will, can't you see that you are already doing enough for me as it is? Paying my tuition fees, helping me along every time I hit a rough patch… I feel beyond terrible every time I take your hard-earned money."

"We're flesh and blood, Susannah," William had replied firmly, setting his jaw. "When we were young, we always stood by each other and supported each other. I have no intention of stopping now. I know that you would do the same for me, and it is my duty as your older brother to look out for you."

Susannah had accepted that, at least, but grudgingly, insisting that she would pay William back when the opportunity presented itself. In spite of this, William knew that he could never take the money, no matter how enraged his refusal would make her. She would need it later, to find a suitable house, to start a family. Besides, he could withstand Susannah's wrath; her temper, while fierce and hard to provoke, came in short bursts and usually died out quickly. There had been a time; back when they had both still lived with their wretched father, that William had hidden her treasured doll, the one that she had called Jillian. That had been wildly out of character, but there was something about dolls- any kind of dolls- that made William uneasy. They had always unsettled him, what with their blank painted eyes and their frozen, almost sinister (or, so he thought) expressions. He had never been able to pinpoint exactly what it was about them that troubled him so, and had futilely attempted to talk his sister into disposing of hers. Unfortunately for him, Jillian and Susannah were inseparable, and so, his nine-year old self had grimly reasoned, he had to take action himself. Once he had obtained the disturbing doll, however, he had found himself unable to destroy it. That would be plain malicious, and William had not been acting in spite. Instead he had hidden it well, and it was the afternoon of that gloomy day that he had discovered Susannah's deep-rooted temper. Ever since then, he had been careful not to inflame this surprisingly waspish side of her. But this was different. He'd brave his little sister's fury without hesitation for this reason.

The moments trickled by, and he took another swig of his still-hot tea, staring unseeingly around at the nearly empty Tim Hortons. He didn't blink as the door swung open and a woman barreled in. That was, until she knocked into his table and sent his beverage splattering across the beige-tiled floor.

William gave a massive start as the table moved, and managed to avoid the stream of scorching tea even as it fell through the air. He gaped at it momentarily and then turned his gaze to the woman, who had stumbled to a halt and placed her hand on the table to prevent her from taking a tumble. "I'm so sorry," she said, quickly, stooping to pick up the cup, which had survived its impact against the harsh ground, save a small crack.

William blinked a few times, and then registered the hot liquid dripping down her dark jacket, trailing a stain. "I'm sorry," he replied, a reflective response.

The woman gave him a strange look- or it seemed to be a strange look. She wore a thick woolen scarf across her face and her hair seemed to have been hastily tucked into a cap, and so it was hard for William to scrutinize her expression. "Don't apologize. It was my fault. I was in a hurry, and I didn't pay attention to where I was putting my feet."

"No harm done," William said diplomatically, though his beverage was now dripping through the floor. "Well, except for your jacket."

"That doesn't matter," she said impatiently, eying the blot with disinterest. Her voice seemed vaguely familiar, but the scarf material distorted it. "I'm sorry about your drink. Let me buy you another one." As she spoke, she fiddled with the hat placed upon her head, and William caught a glimpse of reddish-blonde hair.

"That's not necessary," he protested, but she was already moving toward the counter and ordering. He watched, the hint of a smile forming on his face, curiosity pricking at him. Why was this woman wearing a scarf, a hat, and a jacket on such a warm summer afternoon- well, it was almost evening, he realized after checking his watch. The event began in approximately one and a half hour. His phone startled him by buzzing violently in his pocket, and at last he checked it. There were ten unread texts from George, the last reading: Will! I have no idea what to wear for the premiere! Would I look out of place if I wore the suit that Aunt Begonia made for me?

William frowned. I thought that your Aunt Begonia was the one that passed away, George.

The reply was almost instantaneous. Oh, Will, that's a completely different Aunt Begonia. I have two, you see. Completely different! Night and day! They used to argue about which one of them was the 'real' Begonia. In fact, they argued about simply everything. I suppose they resented each other for having the same name. They used to fight over me, too- both of them wanted to be my favorite Aunt Begonia.

William chuckled aloud, not having realized that the woman had rejoined him with two drinks. She raised an eyebrow and slid his over, all the while expertly sipping her steaming coffee. "Something funny?" the woman asked brightly, lowering the scarf a tad.

William paused. "Er… my room- my friend. He's very- uh- well, funny," he said awkwardly, putting down his cell. The woman looked away for a moment. "Sorry. That was none of my business, really. I suppose I'm just craving human conversation. I just got in from the train and I didn't speak to anybody the entire time. I was lost in my novel."

William took the tea and glanced up again, interested. "Oh? Where did you get in from?"

"New York City. I'm here on business," she replied, her blue-green eyes sparkling.

William's inquisitiveness bit at him again, and it was all he could do not to ask her about her strange attire. He noticed her gaze flicking toward the door and introduced himself hastily. For some odd reason- unbeknownst even to him- William didn't want this conversation to end. There was something interesting…. No, compelling, he determined, about her. He wanted to hear what she had to say next. He wanted to know who she was.

"I'm William. William Murdoch. Thank you for the coffee, by the way."

"Don't worry. I owed it to you," she said with a coy laugh. "But it's nice to meet you, William." The woman eyed him for a few seconds, and then broke into a puzzled smile, or at least he believed it was a smile from the twitch of the scarf. "I'm sorry. You just seem… so familiar. Are you sure we haven't met before?"

William wanted to point out that her face was covered; even if he had met her, he wouldn't have known it. But he held his tongue, not wanting to appear rude, and searched for something to say. Her brow cleared as the silence wore on. "Oh. Sorry. I'm Julia. Julia Ogde…" the words stuttered to a halt and her eyes clouded with complete panic. "Julia… Julia Ogdar," she finished, weakly.

William could only gawk. His quick brain began to fit the puzzle pieces together, clicking them into place at a breakneck pace. Julia lived in New York City, according to George. 'Business'- the première tonight. It had completely escaped him that Julia had played a small role in Blood and Circuses. The scarf and hat were surely to keep her identity anonymous. After all, Julia Ogden was a household name. She must have wanted to navigate the streets of Toronto and grab a coffee without being stampeded by fans and admirers. Her voice… her voice! It matched the voice he had heard on the phone that lunch-break from work.

"You're Julia Ogden," he said, numbly, unaware of how loud he had spoken. The words seemed suddenly magnified in the empty store, and the woman slouched behind the counter looked up very sharply.

"I'm sorry, I have to go," Julia broke into his rapidly spiraling thoughts, already moving toward the door. The scarf had slipped, revealing the face that was plastered across almost every billboard in Canada.

"You don't have to…" William protested unconvincingly.

"Oh, yes I do," Julia countered, looking beyond him to the Tim Hortons employee, who was already dialing her phone excitedly. William only had time to feel angry that he had spoken so thoughtlessly before Julia had exited the little store. He watched her dash across the parking lot, silhouetted by the dying sunlight, and then sat down at his table heavily. Julia had left her almost full cup on the table, beside his, in her haste to flee the scene. William closed his eyes for a split second. "I guess I owe you a coffee now," he muttered.