[ She's not paying attention, buying her coffee at the counter and hurrying between the rows of tables-- she trips on a misplaced shoe or chair leg or her own clumsiness, sends the coffee splattering at Qwe's feet. ]
[He looks up slowly, withering, drawing his feet back. There are napkins on the table and he leans down to wipe off his nice shiny shoes before he really pays any attention to her, holding them out so she can wipe up the rest of the mess on the floor.]
[Honestly, it feels like home to him. He sits at a round table near the window with a cuppa Joe in his hands and one of those free cakes near his elbow. He takes a sip of coffee before slipping a cigarette from his coat pocket and lighting it up with a match. Dean takes a drag and watches pretty French girls walk by outside. They have legs that go on for miles and 4 in. heels and he smiles to himself, remembering better days.]
[ A woman walks in eventually, the bell on the door ringing softly with a chime that seems to catch her attention. She looks up at the swinging bell and blinks it, before whispering something to it. Despite the winter draft that comes with her entrance, her arms are bare and she does not seem to be bothered by the cold.
She seems a bit out of place. Someone else has to tell her to shut the door behind her and even when they do, it takes a few tries and a gesture before she seems to understand them. ]
[Whenever the bell rings, his gaze drifts from the window to the door where patrons walk in by the dozen. This time it's a woman reminding him of the Imps rarely seen and barely heard. He watches her curiously as she fails to acknowledge the draft coming in and the complaints of the customers. He holds his coffee cup a little tighter and takes a drag from his cigarette, watching the woman before deciding to speak out over the crowd.]
[ She starts slightly at the sound of someone speaking specifically to her and then looks at the stranger with wide eyes, bowing her face towards him curiously while the rest of her body remains perfectly still. There are seams at her throat and around her wrists -- partially obscured by the collar of her dress and the bracelets that she wears. She covers them self-consciously before straightening again and nodding slowly. ]
Comments 214
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Fuck.
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Bit of a waste there.
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With a sigh: ] You don't need to tell me that. There goes my morning dosage.
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She seems a bit out of place. Someone else has to tell her to shut the door behind her and even when they do, it takes a few tries and a gesture before she seems to understand them. ]
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Are you lost?
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