Post by Elizaveta Héderváry on Jun 2, 2012 23:08:45 GMT -4
The top left table, located besides the ordering counter and in the corner of the cafe is where Elizaveta settled down every other day, whether it be to speak to her clients face-to-face, typing in peace, or for a hot coffee with a book. She was known as the 'Lady with the Frying Pan' who usually orders 'the usual' and was often very quiet, none the less. Her table was right besides a window, where rays of light illuminated the thin paper painting a story onto the table, all attached to a spine and two covers. She could care less for the lamp hanging above her head, casting a shadow, and if it was nicer, she'd definitely sit herself on an outside table. Today, the book was 'Embers', and with something different to do each time, the cafe never became old. To the Hungarian woman, it was a place to discover. The mirthfulness begun to build in her gut, mossy orbs skimming over the finely printed words as her legs kicked, unable to touch the floor with the stool she was planted on and the slick flats just skimming the stone floor.
The story was just getting good.
The buzzing of voices was blurred, her thumbnails were pressed into the pages, lower lip was gnawed, the corners of her lips crawling up her cheeks, toes curling in, and the page turned, and-and...!
Zzzzzzzpp.......
Blackout.
Promptly, a panic broke out. It was expected, yes. It started as small murmurs and grew into yells and shouts. Elizaveta froze. If it wasn't almost completely dark, the small windows doing practically no good, her abhorrence face might have scared some customers away. She cursed one, twice under her breath, reluctantly slapping her book shut before feeling around for her bag and luckily, was able to tuck all of her belongings away with only bumping her knee twice and her head once against the table and brick wall. Hopping off from her stool, she was able to land on her toes, but had lost a flat when drooling over her book and faltered, stumbling to her knees. Three, four curses as she groped in darkness for her missing flat with one hand, the other keeping her rather skimpy sundress from inching up to becoming a Marylin Monroe photo-shoot.
The story was just getting good.
The buzzing of voices was blurred, her thumbnails were pressed into the pages, lower lip was gnawed, the corners of her lips crawling up her cheeks, toes curling in, and the page turned, and-and...!
Zzzzzzzpp.......
Blackout.
Promptly, a panic broke out. It was expected, yes. It started as small murmurs and grew into yells and shouts. Elizaveta froze. If it wasn't almost completely dark, the small windows doing practically no good, her abhorrence face might have scared some customers away. She cursed one, twice under her breath, reluctantly slapping her book shut before feeling around for her bag and luckily, was able to tuck all of her belongings away with only bumping her knee twice and her head once against the table and brick wall. Hopping off from her stool, she was able to land on her toes, but had lost a flat when drooling over her book and faltered, stumbling to her knees. Three, four curses as she groped in darkness for her missing flat with one hand, the other keeping her rather skimpy sundress from inching up to becoming a Marylin Monroe photo-shoot.
