Post by STABINAE on Oct 11, 2010 1:07:18 GMT 8
'You say I'm stuck somewhere back in between
My blurred memories.
Some say I kicked myself right in the face;
I'm not as I seem...'
Coffee.
She breathed in the strong, distinctive aroma, a twinge of irritance flickering in her gut as she realised the scent of the beverage she drank so often brought a twisted kind of relief. Originally she'd drank it only to blend in further with humanity, then because it flawlessly masked her faint, feral, sulfur-ash-blood 'musk'.
Now, it appeared her system had grown a certain fondness for the popular beverage. She was not addicted, though. Of course not.
Shackinjira do not grow addicted to anything. She could stop drinking coffee whenever she pleased.
The bookshop had been quiet this weekend, so she'd had no problem closing it for lunch. However, the two hours of midday 'rest' were almost up. She could not sit in the coffee shop much longer, or else she'd be reopening late; and she was a punctual being.
" All right there, Emily?"
The waiter smiled at her as he began to clean one of the neighbouring tables; she, Emily Crowe, was a regular and some of the staff had even bought books off her. As she ran the shop with only a couple of employees - and it was quite a decent-sized shop - her face had been remembered over the years. Now, she was considered a local, and had many human aqquaintances.
The shackinjira didn't mind. It was only her long-term body's face they would remember.
" Yes, I am fine, Matthew." She rose, having finished her mug, and shrugged on her coat.
" Tell Rachel that her coffee brew is as exceptional as ever."
The human promised he would, and bade her a friendly farewell, which she returned politely. As she stepped out onto the street, she became just another person amongst a crowd of people. Just one fish in a sea of fish. Her long black hair rippled out behind her, her black coat covering a fitted dark crimson blouse and dark denim jeans. Her long legs strode out, black boots touching down firmly with each brisk stride, her black handbag slung over one shoulder. It was only a couple of blocks to walk; within fifteen minutes she was back, with the shop open and ready for business. Until closing time at 7pm, that was.
Stabinae calmly, masterfully walked around, coat and bag absent, fixing and restocking shelves. It was just her and one employee today - Lisa, the girl's name was; not that Stabinae particularly cared - the latter watching the till while she herself made the rounds.
My blurred memories.
Some say I kicked myself right in the face;
I'm not as I seem...'
Coffee.
She breathed in the strong, distinctive aroma, a twinge of irritance flickering in her gut as she realised the scent of the beverage she drank so often brought a twisted kind of relief. Originally she'd drank it only to blend in further with humanity, then because it flawlessly masked her faint, feral, sulfur-ash-blood 'musk'.
Now, it appeared her system had grown a certain fondness for the popular beverage. She was not addicted, though. Of course not.
Shackinjira do not grow addicted to anything. She could stop drinking coffee whenever she pleased.
The bookshop had been quiet this weekend, so she'd had no problem closing it for lunch. However, the two hours of midday 'rest' were almost up. She could not sit in the coffee shop much longer, or else she'd be reopening late; and she was a punctual being.
" All right there, Emily?"
The waiter smiled at her as he began to clean one of the neighbouring tables; she, Emily Crowe, was a regular and some of the staff had even bought books off her. As she ran the shop with only a couple of employees - and it was quite a decent-sized shop - her face had been remembered over the years. Now, she was considered a local, and had many human aqquaintances.
The shackinjira didn't mind. It was only her long-term body's face they would remember.
" Yes, I am fine, Matthew." She rose, having finished her mug, and shrugged on her coat.
" Tell Rachel that her coffee brew is as exceptional as ever."
The human promised he would, and bade her a friendly farewell, which she returned politely. As she stepped out onto the street, she became just another person amongst a crowd of people. Just one fish in a sea of fish. Her long black hair rippled out behind her, her black coat covering a fitted dark crimson blouse and dark denim jeans. Her long legs strode out, black boots touching down firmly with each brisk stride, her black handbag slung over one shoulder. It was only a couple of blocks to walk; within fifteen minutes she was back, with the shop open and ready for business. Until closing time at 7pm, that was.
Stabinae calmly, masterfully walked around, coat and bag absent, fixing and restocking shelves. It was just her and one employee today - Lisa, the girl's name was; not that Stabinae particularly cared - the latter watching the till while she herself made the rounds.