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disclaimer : NBC owns the characters, I own the words
note : many thanks to Kar
COFFEE SHOP
by Schuyler
With both hands buried deeply in the pockets of my jacket, I strut purposefully down the darkened streets of Blue Cove, headed towards a small coffee bar situated near a busy intersection. Usually the area is alive and bustling at this late hour, but for some reason, tonight it is deserted save the occasional pedestrian or car. Not that it bothers me greatly.
This night, I plan to take a walk on the wild side of life, or at least as far as I can get from my Centre persona. I am clothed in the most appalling attire that I can rummage up from the back of my closet: ragged tennis shoes that loosely embrace my twisted feet; a wrinkled leather jacket containing holes in the pockets that I plug up with my nimble fingers; a white lycra shirt that obscenely stretches across my absent well-built abdomen; and stone-washed Levi’s with typical torn knees and missing belt loops. I consider this a type of therapy. After the most stressful days at work in the cold colossal building that sits on the edge of town, it’s nice to be able to come home and break free of its strangling hold on my life if only for a night.
As I gradually approach the dimly lit store, I watch as an obese man squeezes his way through the tiny door frame, almost bursting at its fixed seams as I allow him passage, but not before he glares at me for the rude smirk I have allowed to creep upon my face.
Continuing to watch as he slowly vanishes into the darkness, I turn back to enter the coffee shop, only to be cut off by a scrawny woman with ravenous locks of unnatural blonde hair and dark roots. She hastily passes through the colorful flaps hanging from the door, and I let her go; I am in no hurry to go inside, and if she is, there is no reason for me to not let her. Upon entering, I automatically head for a booth in a corner, far away from those already present, yet still close enough for me to eavesdrop on their conversations.
A couple minutes pass before a waitress appears at my table, a pad in her hand and a fake smile plastered across her face. I know immediately that she does not like me - it is my unruly appearance. A smug look overcomes me, as I realize my goal for the night has already been achieved. I place my order, and she writes it down in the same cordial manner I extend to her before walking away. Leaning further back into my booth, I watch the steady stream of people continuously flow in and out of the bar as I study them from afar, trying to read their faces and imagine their most private thoughts. I find it fascinating to try and force myself into their minds, stripping away their defense mechanisms and leaving them exposed and vulnerable to me, so I can either thank, pity or jeer at them covertly.
Waiting for my coffee to arrive, I allow my pale blue eyes to roam the mildly crowded area, trying to find someone worthy of my perusal. My lazy gaze comes to rest upon a strange oriental creature in a booth on the opposite side of the shop, hunched over a cup of coffee as she watches everyone just as I am. I greedily lap up her outward appearance, particularly her powdery white skin that seems so dead and fragile in the yellowish hue of the light - so delicate it has a semblance to fine china - and abundant threads of ebony that evenly frames her face in long, loose tresses. And amidst this contrasting portrait of black and white is a dark streak of red lips that tantalizingly capture my attention like a moth to the flame. I revel in their fullness, the way they pout slightly, creating a “come hither” look when combined with her dark brown eyes, which appear to emit a low key signal of dangerousness themselves.
Almost paralyzed by this Asian beauty - although she is by no means beautiful in a conventional way, yet she is not ugly either - I itch to speak to her and find out why I have never seen her in town before this night. However, I do not move from my seat, too afraid to advance upon the sheer crystalline perfection that is created by her slight flaws, and breach the surface lest I discover something terrible that will shatter the present perception I have of her. My coffee finally arrives, but I do not break visual contact with the girl across the room in case she is a figment of my imagination and shall dissolve into thin air if I look away. With a nod of my head, the waitress places the cup upon the table, eyeing me warily as she walks away to another customer. Gripping the mug between two hands, I sip the scalding liquid as though it was lukewarm water, barely feeling it singe the tender tissue that lines my sensitive throat. The girl still does not acknowledge my presence, yet I can sense that she knows she holds my intrigue, demands it so. Placing down my mug, I boldly get up from my seat and make my way to the other side of the shop.
Squeezing through the crowd, I shudder slightly as I touch each person while advancing towards the girl, and they stare back at me in an offended manner because we have made contact, although accidentally, but I give them no attention. She still does not look at me, even though I’m pretty sure she has noticed my approach, and strengthens the wall she has erected around herself like a fort to keep out intruders, but not before I pull a chair from another table and seat myself directly opposite her. I immediately become aware of the cold and inhospitable nature of the chair to my touch - I am unwelcome here. But I ignore the warnings of the chair.
Even as I sit here and gawk at her, hardly two feet away from her face, she does not return the stare, nor does she bristle or flinch. She makes no effort to interact with me, and I don’t either, preferring to just observe her from up close and see whether I can figure out what exactly it is about her that entices me so strikingly. Resting my chin in my two palms, with elbows atop the table, I continue to devour the sight of her, drinking it in like a baby suckling on its mother. From here, I can see that her paleness is quite natural, with no evident traces of fine coloration lines or subtle cakes of dusty powder. Her stark raven hair holds a glossy shine of some soft bluish tint that radiates from it in places as it flows around her face in thick luscious locks and tumbles carelessly onto her shoulders. And her clothes are all of a sable character: black, black, dark gray and then more black, as though she were about to attend a funeral of some sort albeit I assume she dresses in this attire on a daily basis. The only brilliance I am able to find in this almost colorless photo is the jolting crimson shade of her mouth - it’s as if it was painted on by only one bold and vigorous stroke. I cannot help it, but I suddenly find myself leaning forward with my hand outstretched to touch those lips, pressing against the bottom swell with just enough pressure to see what transfers onto the tip of my fingers. Pulling back, I dare to take a peek, only to find my flesh free of any markings.
And still, this unusual statue of a woman does not respond to me; she merely licks her lips with a tiny flick of her tongue and continues to sip her coffee before setting her mug down in front of me. I take a quick glance, and realize she has purposefully left a few drops inside it, and upon a strange impulse I pick up the mug and allow the remaining liquid to slide out and trickle down my awaiting throat. It is cold and weak, with too much milk and hardly any sugar, but I savor the taste all the same. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see this time I have captured her attention as she intently gazes at me while I swallow the coffee, then imitate her previous actions by slowly licking my lips, all the while never breaking eye contact.
Then, in a final spontaneous action fueled by a surge of alien adrenaline, I reach out and grab her bony wrist in my palm which at last produces a reaction from her, although it is not one that I expected. She leans forward into my touch, until we are just millimeters away from each other’s face, and I can feel her hot breath fanning my face ever so gently. As I look into her eyes, I realize that they are not dark brown in color, but one iris is actually pure black, catching me off guard. Tentatively stroking her cheek, I discover that it is in fact fairly hot, as if her body was overrun by a delirious fever, an arguably strange contrast from the coldness of the rest of her body.
Then, in an instant, she is gone, leaving me behind with her empty mug still clutched in one trembling hand. A flash of dark hair draws my attention to the door, and I spot her leaving the shop, blowing a loving kiss that is accompanied by a wink. I stay seated though, too enthralled in her disappearing figure to coherently think about following her. Smiling to myself, I run a hand over my bald head, wiping away the forming sweat beads. Yes Broots, even after all these years, you’ve still got what it takes.
And this will not be the last I will see of her, of that I am sure.
(c) copyrighted 04.18.00 , 23:43:14
note : many thanks to Kar
COFFEE SHOP
by Schuyler
With both hands buried deeply in the pockets of my jacket, I strut purposefully down the darkened streets of Blue Cove, headed towards a small coffee bar situated near a busy intersection. Usually the area is alive and bustling at this late hour, but for some reason, tonight it is deserted save the occasional pedestrian or car. Not that it bothers me greatly.
This night, I plan to take a walk on the wild side of life, or at least as far as I can get from my Centre persona. I am clothed in the most appalling attire that I can rummage up from the back of my closet: ragged tennis shoes that loosely embrace my twisted feet; a wrinkled leather jacket containing holes in the pockets that I plug up with my nimble fingers; a white lycra shirt that obscenely stretches across my absent well-built abdomen; and stone-washed Levi’s with typical torn knees and missing belt loops. I consider this a type of therapy. After the most stressful days at work in the cold colossal building that sits on the edge of town, it’s nice to be able to come home and break free of its strangling hold on my life if only for a night.
As I gradually approach the dimly lit store, I watch as an obese man squeezes his way through the tiny door frame, almost bursting at its fixed seams as I allow him passage, but not before he glares at me for the rude smirk I have allowed to creep upon my face.
Continuing to watch as he slowly vanishes into the darkness, I turn back to enter the coffee shop, only to be cut off by a scrawny woman with ravenous locks of unnatural blonde hair and dark roots. She hastily passes through the colorful flaps hanging from the door, and I let her go; I am in no hurry to go inside, and if she is, there is no reason for me to not let her. Upon entering, I automatically head for a booth in a corner, far away from those already present, yet still close enough for me to eavesdrop on their conversations.
A couple minutes pass before a waitress appears at my table, a pad in her hand and a fake smile plastered across her face. I know immediately that she does not like me - it is my unruly appearance. A smug look overcomes me, as I realize my goal for the night has already been achieved. I place my order, and she writes it down in the same cordial manner I extend to her before walking away. Leaning further back into my booth, I watch the steady stream of people continuously flow in and out of the bar as I study them from afar, trying to read their faces and imagine their most private thoughts. I find it fascinating to try and force myself into their minds, stripping away their defense mechanisms and leaving them exposed and vulnerable to me, so I can either thank, pity or jeer at them covertly.
Waiting for my coffee to arrive, I allow my pale blue eyes to roam the mildly crowded area, trying to find someone worthy of my perusal. My lazy gaze comes to rest upon a strange oriental creature in a booth on the opposite side of the shop, hunched over a cup of coffee as she watches everyone just as I am. I greedily lap up her outward appearance, particularly her powdery white skin that seems so dead and fragile in the yellowish hue of the light - so delicate it has a semblance to fine china - and abundant threads of ebony that evenly frames her face in long, loose tresses. And amidst this contrasting portrait of black and white is a dark streak of red lips that tantalizingly capture my attention like a moth to the flame. I revel in their fullness, the way they pout slightly, creating a “come hither” look when combined with her dark brown eyes, which appear to emit a low key signal of dangerousness themselves.
Almost paralyzed by this Asian beauty - although she is by no means beautiful in a conventional way, yet she is not ugly either - I itch to speak to her and find out why I have never seen her in town before this night. However, I do not move from my seat, too afraid to advance upon the sheer crystalline perfection that is created by her slight flaws, and breach the surface lest I discover something terrible that will shatter the present perception I have of her. My coffee finally arrives, but I do not break visual contact with the girl across the room in case she is a figment of my imagination and shall dissolve into thin air if I look away. With a nod of my head, the waitress places the cup upon the table, eyeing me warily as she walks away to another customer. Gripping the mug between two hands, I sip the scalding liquid as though it was lukewarm water, barely feeling it singe the tender tissue that lines my sensitive throat. The girl still does not acknowledge my presence, yet I can sense that she knows she holds my intrigue, demands it so. Placing down my mug, I boldly get up from my seat and make my way to the other side of the shop.
Squeezing through the crowd, I shudder slightly as I touch each person while advancing towards the girl, and they stare back at me in an offended manner because we have made contact, although accidentally, but I give them no attention. She still does not look at me, even though I’m pretty sure she has noticed my approach, and strengthens the wall she has erected around herself like a fort to keep out intruders, but not before I pull a chair from another table and seat myself directly opposite her. I immediately become aware of the cold and inhospitable nature of the chair to my touch - I am unwelcome here. But I ignore the warnings of the chair.
Even as I sit here and gawk at her, hardly two feet away from her face, she does not return the stare, nor does she bristle or flinch. She makes no effort to interact with me, and I don’t either, preferring to just observe her from up close and see whether I can figure out what exactly it is about her that entices me so strikingly. Resting my chin in my two palms, with elbows atop the table, I continue to devour the sight of her, drinking it in like a baby suckling on its mother. From here, I can see that her paleness is quite natural, with no evident traces of fine coloration lines or subtle cakes of dusty powder. Her stark raven hair holds a glossy shine of some soft bluish tint that radiates from it in places as it flows around her face in thick luscious locks and tumbles carelessly onto her shoulders. And her clothes are all of a sable character: black, black, dark gray and then more black, as though she were about to attend a funeral of some sort albeit I assume she dresses in this attire on a daily basis. The only brilliance I am able to find in this almost colorless photo is the jolting crimson shade of her mouth - it’s as if it was painted on by only one bold and vigorous stroke. I cannot help it, but I suddenly find myself leaning forward with my hand outstretched to touch those lips, pressing against the bottom swell with just enough pressure to see what transfers onto the tip of my fingers. Pulling back, I dare to take a peek, only to find my flesh free of any markings.
And still, this unusual statue of a woman does not respond to me; she merely licks her lips with a tiny flick of her tongue and continues to sip her coffee before setting her mug down in front of me. I take a quick glance, and realize she has purposefully left a few drops inside it, and upon a strange impulse I pick up the mug and allow the remaining liquid to slide out and trickle down my awaiting throat. It is cold and weak, with too much milk and hardly any sugar, but I savor the taste all the same. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see this time I have captured her attention as she intently gazes at me while I swallow the coffee, then imitate her previous actions by slowly licking my lips, all the while never breaking eye contact.
Then, in a final spontaneous action fueled by a surge of alien adrenaline, I reach out and grab her bony wrist in my palm which at last produces a reaction from her, although it is not one that I expected. She leans forward into my touch, until we are just millimeters away from each other’s face, and I can feel her hot breath fanning my face ever so gently. As I look into her eyes, I realize that they are not dark brown in color, but one iris is actually pure black, catching me off guard. Tentatively stroking her cheek, I discover that it is in fact fairly hot, as if her body was overrun by a delirious fever, an arguably strange contrast from the coldness of the rest of her body.
Then, in an instant, she is gone, leaving me behind with her empty mug still clutched in one trembling hand. A flash of dark hair draws my attention to the door, and I spot her leaving the shop, blowing a loving kiss that is accompanied by a wink. I stay seated though, too enthralled in her disappearing figure to coherently think about following her. Smiling to myself, I run a hand over my bald head, wiping away the forming sweat beads. Yes Broots, even after all these years, you’ve still got what it takes.
And this will not be the last I will see of her, of that I am sure.
(c) copyrighted 04.18.00 , 23:43:14
