category: Card Captor Sakura
disclaimer: I don't own it.
She always did like London.
There was something about the understated elegance and class in the air that always drew her in, stronger than the pull of a flame to a moth. And so Tomoyo found herself, after a rushed morning of meetings and pantyhose, walking aimlessly across Tower Bridge. There was a humid breeze that played with the hem of her skirt and allowed the ends of her hair to sway with the wind every so often.
She almost couldn't remember what she had been doing the past six weeks. One minute she was a bittersweet maid of honor, waving goodbye to her closest friend (a sister, really) as she left on a year-long honeymoon cruise around the world. And now she found herself strolling on the pedestrian side of a bridge, walking purposelessly somewhere thousands of miles from home, hardly recalling what had happened the morning before.
She stopped suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk, eliciting a number of angry mutters from the group of tourists behind her as they cut ahead. An exhale, a deep breath of warm air, and she resumed her unhurried pace. That's right. Yesterday morning she had met with a pair of buyers from Au Printemps in Paris. They had discussed wanting to start a cosmetics line in her name – and name only, they clarified. Of course a collection of talented professionals would decide what colors and names and packaging to choose. But, nowadays, the simple mention of Tomoyo Daidouji had a good deal of gravitas in the department store world. After all, hadn't she had her first designs hit the runway in last spring's round of New York Fashion Week, to stellar critical response? And hadn't she graced the cover of the latest released issue of Vogue Italia, featured as an up-and-coming talent to keep an eye out for? And – just a second – hadn't her mother just released a new international line of adorable plush toys, with all proceeds going to provide unprivileged children in Japan with books to read?
Yes, yes, and yes. So the release of a Tomoyo Daidouji line would reel in boatloads of publicity, and hopefully, boatloads of profits soon afterward. At least, that was what the convincing man in the forest green sweatervest had told her. Tomoyo stopped again and let out a tiny laugh. She really couldn't remember much else of the meeting, and hoped her agent had gotten the details. In the end though, was it her decision at all? Hadn't the choice nearly been made for her when her mother shipped off her sketchbook without telling her, when she learned about her own runway show only a week before it happened? Hadn't it been solidified when she was wheedled into attending that Vogue photo shoot, and when she was made to answer her interview questions with a memorized dialogue? And hadn't she dug her own grave when she signed the deal with Saks Fifth Avenue last month without paying any mind to what she was actually signing away?
She exhaled again, and kneeled to rest her elbows on the steel railing at the bottom of the bridge. It was hard sometimes, and she wished she could disappear for twelve months like Sakura, just her and her husband (if she ever got one). But she had her mother to answer to, and now a fashion world constantly at her heels, and life just didn't work that way.
Tomoyo opened her purse and fished a plastic bag of croutons (from today's salad) out from the mass of business cards and lipstick. She ripped open the bag quickly, and tossed a crouton into the water below her. Immediately, she saw a large duck swim over, a hundred feet below her, and snap it up into its jaws, the seasoned bread disappearing in a matter of seconds. Unconsciously smiling as two more ducks came near, Tomoyo dropped a handful more into the water and watched them bob slightly and begin to float away before they were eaten by the ducks. A duckling presently came over, and circled hesitantly outside the circle of grown-ups.
Tomoyo emptied the bag into her palm and was sorting through for the largest piece to throw to the duckling when a something suddenly vibrated from close to her feet. She started then, and the quick jerk of her hand spilled the remaining croutons into the river. Not noticing how the ducks speedily raced to reach the bits, she dug her hand into her purse again and pulled her phone out from the inside pocket. The screen was flashing brightly: 1 new message. Tomoyo scanned the number, but didn't recognize it. It did have a familiar ring to it however; not familiar enough to be her agent or a designer, but one that she had seen before a few times. With a hesitant finger, she pressed the button to open the message.
Tomoyo. I heard you were in town today, but was too afraid to make the phone call I had promised months ago, and so am now sending you this instead, as proof of my lack of nerve. I'm going to have some coffee over at Monmouth by Covent Garden this afternoon. I know you must be busy enough and that I am only a fool with nothing to do to pass the time, but table six always has room for two.
Tomoyo released a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. Her finger hovered over the reply button, then drifted over to the call button, and finally settled on pressing the close key. With a swift move, she dropped her phone back into the recesses of her purse, and pulled herself up from the pavement, brushing off her bare knees as she did so. Then, with purpose in her step, she made her way back across the bridge, back towards the city. As she stepped off the bridge, she lifted her right arm and waved at an approaching taxi driver.
"27 Monmouth Street," she whispered, doubting herself for just a second. Then she made up her mind, and caught the driver's eye in the rearview mirror. "By Covent Garden." He looked back past her in preparation to merge into the traffic, and she cleared her throat to catch his attention again. "I'm sorry, but would you please hurry? It's important." She flashed a 10-pound note. "Thank you."
She sat back in her seat, finally satisfied as the car began to pick up speed. Her mind drifted for a minute, and she caught a glimpse of navy blue and an odd little smile. Sitting up straighter then, she pulled out her powder compact and began to touch up her makeup. She saw herself in the tiny mirror, and smiled reflectively.
She knew there was a reason why she loved London.