(no subject)
Elaine! Here's more of that chamomile you like so much.
-- J.
Her landlord had left the note on her door, at the foot of which was a tin full of loose leaf chamomile tea. Jackie had bought some two weeks ago for her own flat, which she had regrettably shared with Elaine. The property owner soon found that her stash of that particular kind of tea diminished every time Elaine came over -- every day, to be precise. Evidently Jackie had deduced that the only thing left to do was buy Elaine her own tin. This wasn't the first time Jackie had done this. Elaine knew it wouldn't be the last. For all this history and all this future certainty, the discovery of a loose-leaf tea tin sitting before her door never failed to make Elaine smile. Tin in hand, Elaine opened the door and walked into her flat.
The neighborhood outside was very much at odds with the decor of Elaine's little slice of heaven. She lived in a district populated by werewolves, by circumstance a place that could never be as good as the human neighborhoods. They were denied quality goods, quality materials: evident on the streets as much as it was in Elaine's house. But Elaine worked with what little she had. The result was a cozy flat far more inviting than the gloom outside.
Elaine hung her coat on the hanger attached to the door, kicked off her shoes, lined them against the wall, and proceeded to the kitchen. Good tea, like everything else, was hard for werewolves to get, but Jackie had found a tea producer who didn't discriminate. She had to visit them during slow hours, of course, but they gave her tea all the same. And now, Elaine thought with a smile, she was buying for two.
And thank goodness for that. Elaine wasn't sure what state she would be in were it not for the post-work ritual of brewing a pot of tea. Chamomile was her preferred, for obvious reasons. She needed a stress reliever after work. She needed help unwinding from danger, or from the paperwork, or from just dealing with John. She needed to clear her mind. Chamomile helped. Elaine would take her big mug of tea and sit in a big, cozy chair facing a painting of a city street, one that resembled the street her old clothing shop had been. What she thought about depended on what weighed on her mind the most at the time. One day it could be her past, the other her present, the other her future, and, on a significant number of days, John: why she should get over him, how she should get over him, should she get over him, no she can't get over him, but it'd be very sane if she did, oh he's a prat anyway, no he's more than a prat he's a relic of hatred who probably hates himself more than anything he just covers it up by hating everyone especially those who aren't like him, but then he's such a good man and he wouldn't be in this business if he didn't care deep down inside, but what does it matter anyway because you're a werewolf and he doesn't even want to touch you because he's just Oh So Superior being a human, but then he saved you, but then he probably would have let you drown if he knew what you were, yes but you just can't believe he's entirely bad --
Then she would realize her tea had cooled.
Today Elaine curled up in the big cozy couch staring at the reminder of her past wondering just how she was going to be in several places at once. Infiltrating gangs was no problem for her. She was a pro. But she knew this gang was operating all over city as a way to confuse. If they were everywhere, then where was their core? The only way to find it would be to elbow her way into the group, though she wasn't sure if she could, with this one. They were very specific as to who they talked to. She'd have to observe them, first, and hope they took no notice of her.
As for John, she thought nothing of him until she began to congratulate herself for almost getting through a cup of tea without thinking of him. Of course this meant the litany of pros and cons started again, and of course it ended with the realization that the small amount of tea left had, of course, gone cold. And she would realize, too, as she always realized after these mental rants, that there were some tempests of the mind and the heart that chamomile tea couldn't soothe.