Welcome to the Character Coffeehouse! This is a little activity that I do when I need to dig a little deeper into one of my characters. I decided to begin sharing them with you on a semi-regular basis, and I want to invite you to do the same! Pick a character - of your own creation or otherwise - and drop them into the Coffeehouse. What do they order? Who do they see?
Comment your creation below or on my Facebook page, linked here.
Comment your creation below or on my Facebook page, linked here.
As she breezed through the door of the shop, Luna Lephilia didn't even need to think about her order. Latte, double shot, large. It was meant to keep her awake through yet another shift at the Medical Center, so it needed to be strong, but when no one was looking, she knew she'd dump far too much sugar in. By now, it had become routine.
When she reached the counter, the barista knew her by name, probably due to the fact that Luna had spent the majority of her pay here. Without Carolyn around to care for, there were very few uses for her money these days.
It wasn't until after she paid for her steaming cup of coffee that Luna realized she had forgotten to eat again. The little voice in her head scolding her for doing this yet again sounded like Eroyn, the way her conscience always did. She guessed it was that way for everyone. You heard the person in your head who you cared for the most. Or maybe the one who cared most for you.
In her case, it was both.
She didn't have time to sit and sip the latte the way most people in the cafe were. She wished she could perch in front of the tall windows of the shop and just breathe for a second or two before returning to her hectic life, but that wasn't to be. She wouldn't have been able to stand it, anyway.
If one thing could be said for a person like Luna, it was that life without stress was no life at all. From a young age she'd learned to equate being busy to being happy, and that stuck. She didn't actually know what she'd do with free time; the idea baffled her.
So she did what she always did. She shouldered her way through the heavy door, careful not to spill a precious drop of her beverage, and she went to work.
She was in such a hurry to leave, that she didn’t notice the person sitting near the door, half way through his own cup of joe. He’d been there often and seen Luna sweep in and fly out like the witch on a broom and wondered what she’d be like if she slowed down, glanced left or right and noticed him. Would she even stop to chat or was her Busy too important and would pull her away? He thought of calling out but dreaded the cold refusal he expected she’d send his way. So, he went back to his work, but he wondered . . . He came to the café to write and found the noise and bustle of the place a relaxing screen that allowed him to focus on his work while others chatted up storms. “The whistle of the teapot, the clinkle of the spoon, the best part of tea-time, are the sounds in the room.” He wrote that, then half crossed out parts, scribbling in the margin of pads, napkins and scraps of paper to find the right words. But he couldn’t think of the right word to reach through Luna’s armor so another day went by . . . another missed opportunity.
ReplyDeleteThe next day, he was there again, at his usual seat, and as she swooped past on her way out he said, “Excuse Me?”
She turned and shot him a glare, as though he had just dumped an ice bucket over her head, and he stammered, “I thought you might like this,” and handed her a piece of paper.
She looked surprised but as he stayed seated and she was standing, knew she could be out-the-door in a minute if he tried anything funny. She looked down at the paper and read: “A breeze in the night, a breeze in the day, coffee can comfort, but what about play?” It was signed, “George,” dated, “this summer, now.”
“Is this some kind of joke? Are you making fun of me?” she snapped, still considering if she should call 911 or just say, “Get Lost,” and be off to work. Would she even tell the others about this intrusion to her routine?
“No,” he replied, “sometimes I just put words together, sometimes they work, sometimes they don’t, but thought you might like this one. Thought maybe you might have a minute to talk or say Hello?” He looked up at her and she seemed to soften a bit around the edges and consider as she took in his smile, his semi-wrinkled clothes and piles of paper that had both a crazy-decrepit look as well as industry.
Love this! ^
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