01-18-2014, 02:45 AM
The place smells of coffee and people, a kind of sickly mix of sharp caffeine and sweat and cleanness. The palate is earthy -- brown for the coffee and green for the money. Starbucks green.
Normally, Grace would be staying the fuck out of this place, staying the hell away from all these people. But not today. Today, everything's just flowing like a skipping video from street to door to chair to a cup of mass-manufactured coffee she never ordered set down on the table by some faceless, nameless worker bee. There's something wrong about this whole set up, but the usual anxiousness just isn't there.
She drinks the coffee. It's what you're supposed to do in a coffee shop.
Across from her in the other chair at her table, there's a new person to look at. Pretty, brunette, with such deep blue eyes and bright yellow dress -- you'd just trust her. Unless you're Grace. Still, it's like the adrenaline spigot won't turn on. She drinks her coffee and stares at the woman in front of her, a silent 'you first'.
"How are you, Grace?" Katie asks, concern written on that pretty face.
"I'm doing very well. We all are," she claims, though she knows they all still deal with the aftereffects. "I mean, there were some pretty bad times for a while, but this is what we do, we move forward."
She straightens her spine and glares at Katie. "You little shits didn't take who I am away."
Defiance, right? Look them in the eye and spit. Make them realize how little they changed anything. Grace is the one who changes, who decides how it happens, not this dead woman.
But Katie beams, a bright and light smile on her face as tears threaten to pool in her eyes. "Good. You have no idea how happy that makes me, really."
"I didn't say it for your benefit," Grace counters.
"I know," Katie says, looks down at the table. "I don't deserve happiness. You know what I'm here for."
Little drops of blood start falling on the table then. Katie's tears are always infectious. Her sorrow too little too late. She reaches out with a pale hand, and takes Grace's from the coffee cup. It's fairly pointless to resist, and as yet, fear stays put. This is just what you're supposed to do in a Starbucks.
It starts with the woman's cold, hard fingertips, as tiny insect legs disentangle themselves, growing from her dead skin, becoming the robotic wasps that Katie is made of. They start to writhe. Some take to the air around Grace, some burrow into the skin of her hand, spreading their cold metal underneath like needles under her fingernails which then split as their bodies worm underneath. The swarm that was a pretty girl attacks in full then, slicing their way inside, inside, inside from wherever they can get under clothing.
Nobody in the coffee shop notices the screams in the slightest.
But it is likely that someone in the Chantry does, as Grace thrashes and wakes herself up with the noise.
[Just posting this as an IC signal to Chantry peeps. Grace has nightmares. A lot. Sometimes she's loud. It's likely some of you know that if you hang at the Chantry.]
Normally, Grace would be staying the fuck out of this place, staying the hell away from all these people. But not today. Today, everything's just flowing like a skipping video from street to door to chair to a cup of mass-manufactured coffee she never ordered set down on the table by some faceless, nameless worker bee. There's something wrong about this whole set up, but the usual anxiousness just isn't there.
She drinks the coffee. It's what you're supposed to do in a coffee shop.
Across from her in the other chair at her table, there's a new person to look at. Pretty, brunette, with such deep blue eyes and bright yellow dress -- you'd just trust her. Unless you're Grace. Still, it's like the adrenaline spigot won't turn on. She drinks her coffee and stares at the woman in front of her, a silent 'you first'.
"How are you, Grace?" Katie asks, concern written on that pretty face.
"I'm doing very well. We all are," she claims, though she knows they all still deal with the aftereffects. "I mean, there were some pretty bad times for a while, but this is what we do, we move forward."
She straightens her spine and glares at Katie. "You little shits didn't take who I am away."
Defiance, right? Look them in the eye and spit. Make them realize how little they changed anything. Grace is the one who changes, who decides how it happens, not this dead woman.
But Katie beams, a bright and light smile on her face as tears threaten to pool in her eyes. "Good. You have no idea how happy that makes me, really."
"I didn't say it for your benefit," Grace counters.
"I know," Katie says, looks down at the table. "I don't deserve happiness. You know what I'm here for."
Little drops of blood start falling on the table then. Katie's tears are always infectious. Her sorrow too little too late. She reaches out with a pale hand, and takes Grace's from the coffee cup. It's fairly pointless to resist, and as yet, fear stays put. This is just what you're supposed to do in a Starbucks.
It starts with the woman's cold, hard fingertips, as tiny insect legs disentangle themselves, growing from her dead skin, becoming the robotic wasps that Katie is made of. They start to writhe. Some take to the air around Grace, some burrow into the skin of her hand, spreading their cold metal underneath like needles under her fingernails which then split as their bodies worm underneath. The swarm that was a pretty girl attacks in full then, slicing their way inside, inside, inside from wherever they can get under clothing.
Nobody in the coffee shop notices the screams in the slightest.
But it is likely that someone in the Chantry does, as Grace thrashes and wakes herself up with the noise.
[Just posting this as an IC signal to Chantry peeps. Grace has nightmares. A lot. Sometimes she's loud. It's likely some of you know that if you hang at the Chantry.]