Notes: This story will include most of the canon characters from the anime series as it goes on, though only the three POV characters (Dorothy, Ange, and Charlotte) have been listed.
She usually wakes up before her alarm clock sounds. The room is always dark, with only the thinnest sliver of yellow from the streetlights dribbling in past the curtains. She sits up slowly in bed, yawning and stretching. Just as she reaches for it, the alarm begins ringing. She winces, and fumbles with the levers and knobs at the back, finally pressing in the one that stops the little hammer from going back and forth.
She sighs, and sets the clock down. It always happens this way, it seems. With another yawn, she pulls herself up to her feet, and pads over to her closet. She pulls down a tight green dress with long sleeves. Simple, and by now almost a uniform.
She pulls off her purple pyjama top, the only thing she had worn to bed the other night, and pads out into the hallway. She lives alone, so there's no one to embarrass. Not that she'd really care. she has a spare room, that she calls her guest room, but she hasn't had any need for that in ... actually ever.
The flat isn't great, but it has running water. She turns the tap on the shower, and then pulls her hair up and stuffs it in a waterproof cap. She doesn't want to deal with her hair today. Its too long and takes too long to dry.
After a quick, bracing shower she dries off, shakes her hair out and dries the few strands that poked out of the cap. She pads back into her room, and turns the knob to turn on the gaslight.
She spares a look at herself in the mirror. She has generous hips and bosom, smooth clear skin, brown hair (both) and lavender eyes. She leans in close, closing one eye, and tugging on her cheek. She sighs, and blinks. Black circles, and the hint of bags.
"Damn booze," she mutters.
She slips on a pair of white bloomers and knee-high black socks. Not very enticing, but she wasn't aiming to entice. Not in that way in any case.
She pulls on a slip that reaches to her mid thighs, then pulls on the dress. It hangs down below her knees. With the high white collar and long sleeves, she is covered except for her face and hands. She sighs again, and sits down in front of her mirror.
She leans in close, and decides it doesn't look bad enough to bother with makeup. She instead combs out her hair just enough to pull it into a pony-tail, which she then wraps up into a bun. Some lipstick, and a quick brush of rouge to her cheeks for color, and she is ready.
She slips on flat-heeled shoes. She prefers boots, but they take too long and don't do her feet any favors with her job. Last, she grabs a folded up piece of paper sitting on a table beside her flat door.
The place has a kitchen, though she almost never uses it. The living room has a sofa and a coffee table, currently holding a nearly empty bottle of whisky, and an empty glass.
Every morning, she exits her flat at the same time as the older gentleman across the hallway. He is portly, with thinning white hair and a still-impressive mustache.
"Good morning, General."
"Ms. MacBean."
She locks her door, as he slowly walks down the stairs. Taking each step one at a time, holding onto the rail with one hand, a cane with the other. She sometimes sees him walk past the café window during the course of the day, but otherwise never interacts with him.
He's her only neighbor. He is quiet, and leaves a check for his rent under her door a week before its due, so she doesn't complain.
Her workday begins when she reaches the bottom of the stairs. The General is already out the door, off to who knows where. She collects the morning newspaper, left by the mailboxes just inside the door. She next unlocks the door into the café's back room and steps through.
She turns on the light, and glances out the window of the delivery door. its rare that anyone is there this early, but she always checks to be sure.
She then slips an apron on over her dress, tying it in back. It's white with light green stripes.
She next walks into the kitchen. It's fairly large with a modern gas oven, and stovetop that she mostly uses to brew tea and melt chocolate and cook sweet sauces.
Today she turns on the oven, and as it warms up she goes into the large walk-in freezer. Its an expensive unit to run, but it is also one of her secret weapons: she pulls a tray of pastries that she mixed last night, and places it in the kitchen, to bake when the oven heats up. She also has a tray of bread ready to be baked as well.
She checks the temperature dial, and sees that the oven still has some time to warm up. she goes out to the café, and turns on the light behind the counter. She looks up at the chalkboard listing various products and prices, and decides she doesn't need to make any changes. She checks the countertop to make sure it is clean, and unlocks the cash register.
She then grins proudly at her other secret weapon. A large bronze cylinder with a rounded top, and two spigots.
She lights the pilot under the machine, and turns a valve. It clunks, and hisses, and she watches the temperature and pressure dials climb.
The oven is warm enough by now, so she goes back to the kitchen to put in the tray of pastries. Then she puts the tray with the bread in the kitchen, to go in next. She sets a timer, and walks back to the café.
The machine has reached its proper pressure, so she places a mug under one of the spigots. She pours fresh coffee beans into a grinder, adjusts a dial, and begins to turn the handle.
"Maybe," she muses, "they'll make a machine to do this one day."
Until then, she must hand grind the beans. It is, all told, the longest part of the process, and still only takes a few minutes. She scoops out fresh ground coffee and pours it into a handled cylinder, then tamps it down into a thick, compact disk. She places the cylinder in the machine above a spigot, then turns a dial, pulls a lever, and the machine goes to work. It hisses, clunks, and clatters. After a few moments, fragrant, brewed coffee pours out of the spigot and into the mug. When the liquid sputters, she pushes the lever and turns the dial, shutting off the stream.
The Espresso is bitter, with a faintly burnt taste. Many of her customers swear by it, but she wonders if it's due to the flavor or the exotic Italian machine she uses to make it. Well, she plays it up for her customers anyway. Espresso is about speed, and about performance. The customers who really care about their coffee request "the good stuff," which takes longer to brew but has a smoother flavor, without the burnt taste that comes from the process of forcing heated water into the coffee grounds.
The alarm in the kitchen goes off, and she goes back there to pull out the pastries. They go onto a cooling rack, and the bread goes into the oven. She pulls out a second tray of formed but uncooked bread, and then takes a tray of cooked pastries out to the café.
She turns on the little electric light in the display cabinet beside the counter, and fills it with the pastries. The fresh ones will go in a little later, once they have cooled and she can ice and decorate them. These will do for now, and if they're still here when the others are ready, she'll discount their price.
She cleans the espresso machine next, something she ought to have done earlier she tells herself. The cylinder pulls out, and she turns it over into the wastebin. A compressed puck of moist coffee grounds falls out. She wipes out the cylinder and puts it back in the machine, wipes off the spigot and the small shelf under it, and then takes the used mug back to the kitchen to be washed. Later, when she has time.
The first tray of bread is done, and she changes trays and resets the alarm. At about the same time, the bell rings in the other room, alerting her to a delivery.
"Heya Bill," she says with a smile as she opens the door.
"Morning, Ms Daisy."
He hands her a clipboard, and she inspects the invoice and signs it.
"('ll just unload it for you, ma'am."
"Thanks Bill."
He tips his hat, and turns to work, unloading bags of flour and yeast, sugar, cocoa powder, and the vitally important coffee beans.
Daisy returns to the kitchen while he unloads the delivery van. Bill's trustworthy. Daisy thinks he's a little smitten with her, but hasn't ever gathered up the courage to ask her on a date. He's cute enough that she probably wouldn't turn him down, but he isn't quite her type.
Today as ever, he peeks into the kitchen. "It's unloaded, Ms Daisy."
"Thanks Bill. Want anything?"
He grins. "Aw, I can't refuse your sweets ma'am."
Daisy smiles, and hands him a fresh-baked cinnamon roll. He tips his hat to her again, and ambles back out to the delivery van, munching on the pastry.
With Bill gone, and the delivery door closed, the shop becomes quiet. It won't stay that way. The second tray of bread is done, so it goes onto the cooling rack. She keeps the oven on. She has enough bread and pastries to last the morning, but she'll need to make more soon.
It's getting close to time, so she goes back out to the café. She glances out the window, and sees an old couple standing by the door. The gentleman glances at his pocket watch, as though the action will make the minutes pass faster. The woman shifts on her feet, hands in the pockets of her jacket.
She turns on the gaslights in the café. Not too bright. She wants it warm and cozy, and not overpowering.
She opens the shutter of the main window, unlocks the front door, and smiles as the man and woman amble inside.
"Good morning, and welcome to Café MacBean! How may I help you?"
"Mornin'. Cuppa black."
He always orders the same thing.
"Good morning," the woman chirps. "Breakfast blend if you''d be so kind."
"Of course sir, madam. Please feel free to sit anywhere you'd like. Would you like anything else?"
The woman settles in to a chair that the man most pointedly does not pull out for her. "Some of your delightful bread."
"Butter or marmalade?"
"Hm. Butter, I believe."
It's always the same, and she could probably just serve the bread for them, but she always goes through the routine.
The man picks up today's newspaper from a shelf beside the door. He sits down opposite the woman and opens the paper to the middle section. Daisy isn't sure what he reads. She doesn't have time to notice, as she has to start the woman's tea and the man's coffee. She learned after a scowl or two that "cuppa black" is his way of asking for a better cup of coffee than the espresso machine makes.
She makes his coffee in the kitchen. One gas burner heats the water for the tea, and a second heats water in a glass carafe. While she waits for the water to boil, Daisy grinds more coffee. It's a coarser grind, since she doesn't have to compact it like she does for the espresso machine.
When the water is ready, she pours the coffee grounds into a second glass container, and places it above the glass carafe. Pressure forces the water up from the carafe into the upper container. The mix needs to be stirred, and taken off the heat. The coffee, minus the grounds, trickles back into the carafe as it cools.
When she walks out to their table, about five minutes later give or take, the man folds and sets the paper aside.
"Coffee, black. Tea, breakfast blend. Bread, with butter."
"Thank you, darling," the woman coos with a wide smile.
The man picks up his coffee and sips at it. "Mm." He nods in her direction. It's the highest praise he's ever given her, but it's enough.
"Let me know if you need anything else."
They never do, but it's part of the routine.
She has time to mix bread dough. It's not that challenging, and it has to sit to rise before baking anyway. While she's back in the kitchen, she has time to dribble some sugared icing on some of the fresh pastries that have cooled. They're basically ready, but they will be fine back here until the display case starts to empty.
She heads out back to the café, and glances at the clock above the chalkboard. It's close to shift change at the factories nearby. The incoming first-shift workers will want coffee, tea, and food. Some of the outgoing third-shift workers may come in a little later, but not very many. They usually go to a place they can sit down and have a hot meal, before getting as much sleep as they can.
When the bell above the door jingles, Daisy looks up in slight surprise. It's a bit early, and the young woman that enters isn't what she would expect.
She has blonde hair, slightly longer than shoulder length, just slightly messy due to the breeze. Her blue eyes are rich and deep, sparkling in the light. Her face is smooth and clean, though Daisy notes a very faint scar along the bridge of her nose. It's not enough to mar what Daisy can only call a pretty face. Her dress is grey and black, knee-length, and while clean and without any tears, looks the worse for wear.
"Welcome to Café MacBean," Daisy says with practiced ease and a smile. "How may I help you?"
The young woman's face brightens up as she smiles. "The question," she says in a clear, musical voice with just the faintest trace of the East End in her accent, "is how may I help you?"
The woman walks over to the counter. She is carrying a satchel in her left hand, and extends her right hand. Daisy takes it without hesitation.
"You must be the girl from the agency."
"Ange le Carré," she says, her smile widening. Her grip is surprisingly firm and confident.
"Right. Daisy MacBean. Nice to meet you, and thanks for getting here on time. Oh, need to see your papers though."
Ange releases Daisy's hand with a nod. "Of course." She sets her satchel on a nearby stool, and opens it. She pulls out a folded piece of paper, and hands it to Daisy.
She glances over it, just to make sure everything is in order, then holds it out for Ange to take.
The woman looks at it in surprise. "Don't you need to keep that?"
"I have it already," Daisy says as she taps the folded piece of paper on the counter. "Just making sure you're you, and not someone else pretending to be you."
"Oh, I see." Ange takes the paper and shoves it back into her satchel.
"Well, since everything's fine, come on back. We don't have too much time, but I can get you started."
Ange nods, her expression turning serious. "Right!" She closes and lifts her satchel, and ducks under the gate to the side of the display case when Daisy lifts it. She follows her into the back room.
"Put your things over there," Daisy says, gesturing to a small wooden table with a single chair beside it. When Ange sets her satchel down, Daisy tosses an apron at her.
"Delivery door's there. Deliverymen will ring the bell. I'll handle that for now."
"Right."
"Walk-in freezer's there. There's a safety handle on the inside, so you won't get trapped. Still, try to be careful. It gets pretty cold in there."
"Alright."
Daisy walks into the kitchen, Ange dutifully following. "Bread's rising there. That bread there's ready to serve, that there is too but you want to use the loaves there first. They went into the oven first so need to be used up."
"Bread. Right."
"Don't worry too much about it. I won't have you serving customers today. That said, you any good brewing tea?"
Ange smiles and nods. "I am."
"Great. Breakfast blend. Two slices of bread, with butter. Make it quick as you can, but make it right. When you're done bring it out to me."
"Oh," Ange says. Her eyes widen, and she nods.
"You've worked as a waitress before, your paperwork said so."
"Of course, I just expected ... well, it's fine. They'll be out soon."
Daisy smiles, and walks out of the kitchen. As she returns to the café, the doorbell jingles. Three men in sturdy clothes enter. Their faces and clothes are clean, and though they seem tired, it's the tired you have in the morning before having your first cup of caffeine.
"Good morning, and welcome to Café MacBean. How may I help you?"
The men stroll up to the counter, nodding at the old couple who still linger at their table.
"Espresso, three." the one man says. The other two are looking in the display case.
"Right!" She turns and scoops grounded coffee into the two cylinders. She turns the knobs on the machine, places mugs under the spigots, and with a flourish, pulls both levers at once. The machine splutters and hisses, and Daisy gives the men a wink.
"Two doughnuts and an eclair as well, if you please?" the man orders as well.
"Of course, sirs."
The first two cups are done, and she places them in front of the men, then empties and wipes out the cylinders. before refilling them with coffee grounds. As the cup fills, she pulls out the pastries from the display counter, placing them on little plates.
The man who ordered pays, then the three step to one side. One man sits on a stool as he eats his doughnut, and the other two remain standing.
The doorbell jingles again, and two more men enter. One removes a bowler hat as he enters. He's better-dressed than the others, but the workmen greet him with smiles and greetings that aren't just forced politeness.
"Good morning," Daisy greets them.
"Morning, Miss Daisy," the well-dressed man says. He speaks with a workman's accent, and has the confident grace of a man used to heavy labor, despite his evident higher status. "Breakfast blend for me, espresso for me chum."
"Right away sir. Anything to eat?"
Ange comes into the café at that moment, carrying a cup of tea and two slices of bread with butter. Her cheeks turn pink as she realizes the eyes of the workmen are on her, but she smiles. "Your breakfast, ma'am."
"Thanks. One more tea, Ange."
"Oh," she blinks in surprise.
"Make sure it's good."
"Right!" She turns on her heel, giving the men a quick nod.
"And bread, for us both if you please."
Ange stops, and glances back at Daisy, who nods.
"Coming right up, sir!" Ange says with confidence, and trots out of the café.
Daisy laughs, and sips her tea. "Hm. Not too bad."
"New girl?" the man sitting asks, between bites of doughnut.
Daisy nods as she works on the espresso. "Just started today."
"Hope she ain't just a pretty face."
The well-dressed man grins. "She's doing fine so far. Though the pretty face helps."
Daisy frowns at him. "I hope you're not implying something."
"Nah, you're more than pretty Daisy."
She grins and winks at him, and at that moment Ange comes back out with a second cup of tea and plates with bread.
The well-dressed man pays and he and his friend carry their food and drink to a table.
Ange takes a deep breath. "Will there be anything else?"
The old man ambles toward the counter, and the woman stands up to wait by the door.
"Clean that table. Collect the dishes and put 'em by the sink in the kitchen, wipe it down, and if you have a chance, sweep the floor."
"Right."
The old man pays, and nods at the three workmen, who are finishing up their food. As the couple leaves, Ange collects the dishes.
Daisy has a moment, with Ange doing the cleanup work. She sits and sips her tea, and eats her bread.
"Well," one of the workmen says, "time to get to it."
"Have a good day," Daisy says with a smile.
The men tip their hats at her, and head out.
The well-dressed man lingers for a moment longer, walking back to the counter. "Tell the new girl the tea and bread were just about right."
"Thank you sir, I'll tell her."
He nods, and walks out, giving her a slight bow at the door.
Ange walks back out into the now empty café. Her cheeks are slightly redder than they were.
"Guess you heard that?"
Ange nods.
"Good start. Collect the dishes, wipe down the tables, and sweep. Things should be quiet for a bit, but if anyone does come in let me take care of 'em. I mean, be nice and greet them, but let me take their orders."
"Alright."
Daisy walks out to the back room, handing Ange a broom. Ange grins and gives her a playful salute. Daisy shakes her head and laughs.
Ange works hard, learns fast, and is eager to please. The slow late morning gives Daisy a chance to work in the kitchen, and she has Ange there helping her. Learning.
Daisy forms the bread she mixed earlier, now fully risen, into loaves and puts them in the oven. She mixes up another batch while the first bakes, and Ange watches carefully, mentally noting the ingredients and proportions. Next, as the bread is set aside to rise, she teaches Ange how to make a fairly simple but popular pastry item: cinnamon rolls.
"The secret's getting the dough to the right consistency. Too sticky and it won't roll. Now, you get it right and you can use it with other fillings. Even meats, though we're not licensed to serve that."
"Oh. Well, I am."
Daisy nods. "Saw that on your information sheet. Handy, in case I want to serve hot lunches some day but for now ..."
The jangle of the bell in the café tells Daisy she has customers.
"Okay, keep at this. When the oven timer goes off pull the bread out and put it on the cooling rack. I'll be back in a moment."
"Alright," Ange nods. She takes over mixing the dough as Daisy walks out to the café.
A couple of customers want coffee and bread, so she goes back into the kitchen. Ange is rolling out the dough into a long rectangle. "Bread for two," Daisy calls out.
"Oh, alright."
Daisy darts back into the café, and takes the customers' payment, then begins to make their espresso. In a few moments, Ange comes out with two plates holding slices of bread. She sets them on the counter in front of the customers with a smile.
"We wanted butter," one grumbles.
"Oh, of course sir," Ange nods. She glances at Daisy, who shrugs and with a flourish sets the mugs of espresso down on the counter. Ange hurries back into the kitchen, returning with a ceramic tub of butter. She hastily spreads it over the slices of bread. "Sorry about that."
The customers grumble, grabbing their food and drink and ambling over to a table.
Ange sighs and turns to leave. Daisy claps her shoulder and walks with her. "Sorry, should've told you."
"I should have asked."
"Well, don't dwell on it. It's not like it'll be the only mistake in your career."
"I'm not sure that makes me feel better."
Daisy grins. "Not really meant to. Just the way it is. How's the cinnamon rolls going?"
They enter the kitchen, and Ange gestures at the dough. "It's ready. I guess I just spread the filling over the dough?"
"Part of it, yeah. You pour some into the baking pan, then the rest on the dough, roll it up, and cut it into even bits."
"Alright. I can do that."
"Good."
After a lunchtime rush from about half-past eleven to half-past one, the café quiets down again. Daisy and Ange busy themselves in the kitchen, baking bread and pastries. Business picks up again around three, when Londoners begin to take their afternoon tea. Factory workers, accountants, and students from the nearby Queen's Mayfair Academy make up the strangely mis-matched clientele.
Ange doesn't complain or hesitate when she's told to clean up tables after customers, or to sweep the floor, or to do dishes. Daisy still doesn't have her take orders or make espresso, though she keeps her busy between the cleaning tasks, minding the oven, making tea, and bringing out bread.
The tea rush slows down around five, and the café remains quiet for most of the late afternoon. Since they don't serve hot meals or meat, it isn't busy at all at suppertime. The last few customers leave a quarter til eight, and Daisy closes the shutter on the window, turns the sign to read "closed," and locks the door.
Ange is prompt and thorough in sweeping and mopping the floor in the café, which gives Daisy the chance to move the left-over pastries from the display case to the walk-in freezer, make two last cups of espresso before shutting the machine down, and then making the bread and pastries to freeze overnight, to have baking tomorrow morning.
As Ange finishes cleaning, Daisy makes her sit down at the little wooden table in the back room and drink the coffee and eat a sandwich with roast beef and cheese.
"Supper," Daisy explains with a grin.
"I see."
"Well, you're allowed to eat pastries and bread within reason through the day.."
"I didn't realize."
"If you're hungry, grab some of the remaining pastries. They'll have to be thrown out tomorrow if they're not sold or eaten anyway."
As Ange eats her sandwich and a strawberry tart, Daisy shuts down the oven and finishes the dishes. Then she goes through the café, shutting down the lights and making sure everything is in order.
It's half-past nine, when Daisy finally pulls her apron off with a yawn. "Nice work today, Ange."
The younger girl smiles, and removes her apron as well. "Thank you."
"Be here early as you can be tomorrow."
"Oh." Ange nods, and looks at her satchel. "Oh, of course."
Daisy is locking the delivery door, and glances back curiously at Ange. "You can head off now."
"Right," Ange nods. She shifts on her feet, and glances at the door.
"Is something wrong?"
"Well ... I mean, I really do hate to mention this after only one day but," Ange clears her throat and looks down at her feet. "Is there any chance that I could get an advance on my first paycheck?"
Daisy looks at her in confusion. "You need money?"
Ange shrugs.
"You don't have anywhere to go, do you?"
"That's not true!" Ange says, a bit too sharply. She blushes lightly, and shrugs again. "I'm going to stay in a boarding house. It's just ... I mean, I saved up as much as I could, but .…"
"Alright, look. I don't know all the details of your life and I don't want to, but this is a serious question: do you not have a home?"
Ange shakes her head.
"Well, I live in the flat above the café, and I've got a spare room. I call it a guest room, but I never have any guests that need a separate bed."
Ange's blush deepens, but she looks up with wide eyes.
"So, you can stay there. I mean, just until you get your feet under you. Once you've got some money saved up we'll see from there. Besides," she adds with a grin, "that way you won't have an excuse to be late for work."
"Oh. I mean ... your landlord won't object?"
"I'll ask her: Say Miss MacBean, do you object if Ange stays in my flat for a few weeks until she can get a proper house? Why, not at all Daisy. She's welcome to stay as long as she likes."
Ange blinks in confusion, and Daisy laughs.
"You ... you own the building?"
"Not as impressive as it sounds. It's a café and a pair of flats just above it. I couldn't pass up the opportunity."
"How do you manage it?!"
Daisy grins. "I've got a tenant in the second flat, and the café does alright. That, and I'm in debt up to by eyebrows."
A smile crosses Ange's lips. "Oh. Well, then I suppose I can accept your offer."
"Great! Grab your satchel. Wait, is that everything you own?"
Ange picks it up, nodding shyly.
"I don't guess you've got a second dress in there?"
"Well ... no. Some underclothes and a casual outfit. It's ... shabby."
Daisy leads Ange to the door, her hand on the girl's shoulder. "We'll have to take you shopping then."
"Um."
"Since I own the place, I set the hours. I close early some days, open late on others, and just stay closed sometimes."
"I see."
Daisy locks the door, and checks her mailbox. It's empty. She then gestures up the stairs, and Ange goes up.
Daisy unlocks her flat, and Ange walks in slowly. Daisy turns on the gaslight, and gestures around the place.
"Well, it isn't the Lorraine, but it's home. Living room. Oh, don't mind the mess."
Ange glances at the whisky bottle and glass sitting on the coffee table, but says nothing.
"Kitchen. Almost never use it. Anything in there's free for you to grab, just clean up any mess you make. Door on the end of the hall's the bathroom."
Daisy opens it, and Ange looks in.
"Hot and cold running water. On days when I open late or close early, the bathtub's available. After I have my bath that is."
"Naturally."
"Other days, use the shower."
Ange nods. "Shower. Right."
Daisy taps on the door beside the bathroom. "This is my room. You don't go in there unless I invite you. If I do invite you, you don't disturb anything, and you certainly don't take anything."
"Of course!"
Daisy nods, and opens the third door. "This will be your room."
It's the smaller of the two bedrooms. It holds single bed with a scratchy-looking white blanket, cloth sheet, and two pillows. A mirror along one wall sits behind a small wooden table and chair. Beside that is a chest-of drawers. A small window sits on the wall opposite the door, and a small closet is beside that.
Two large cardboard boxes sit atop one another in front of the window. Daisy frowns at them. "I have no idea what's in those."
Ange smiles. "They won't be in my way."
"Well, I'll go through them at some point. They've probably been there since I moved in. Anyway, there are a couple old dresses and blouses in the closet. If they fit, you're welcome to them. The dresser's empty. I think."
She opens the drawers, confirming that they are empty. Except for a claw hammer, which Daisy takes with a shrug. Ange doesn't ask.
"Alright, with that settled ... want a drink?"
Ange sets her satchel down on her bed, and glances uncertainly at her reflection. "I don't really drink."
"Up to you, but I always have a bit before bed. Helps me unwind after work."
"Oh. Well, I suppose it won't hurt to have a little."
Ange sits down on the sofa, and watches as Daisy takes the dirty glass away, and comes out with two clean ones. She then opens a liquor cabinet along one wall.
"Whisky, Scotch, or Bourbon?"
"Um. I suppose whisky?"
Daisy nods, and pulls out a tall, green glass bottle. She sets it on the table, then pours the rest of the whisky from the open bottle into her glass, before easing open the cork on the new bottle and pouring a measured amount into Ange's.
She sits down, and gestures towards Ange with her glass. "Cheers."
"Cheers," Daisy replies, lightly tapping their glasses together.
Daisy tips the glass back, downing the whisky in one gulp. "Ah! That's the stuff!"
Ange cautiously sniffs her drink, wrinkling her nose, before taking a cautious sip. Her face instantly contorts, and she is unable to suppress a cough.
"Smooth, huh?" Daisy says in amusement.
"It's very strong," Ange manages to say.
"Not really. It's on the weaker end of whiskys, honestly."
Ange looks at her in surprise.
"You don't have to drink it, but it'll grow on you if you give it a chance."
Ange frowns, but raises the glass to her lips again to take another sip. She is able to keep from coughing, but she again grimaces.
Daisy shakes her head, and pours more whisky into her glass. She sips this, leaning back against the sofa. Ange continues to sip at her drink, gradually becoming used to the powerful burning sensation.
"So," Daisy begins.
"Yes?"
"You have a boyfriend?"
Ange blushes, and splutters. "I don't see how that's an appropriate question."
Daisy sighs. "We're flatmates now, kid. I don't mind if you have guests over, so long as they keep out of the café's back room and clean up any messes they make, but I do want to know about it beforehand."
"Oh," Ange says. Her blush deepens, and she looks down at her drink. "You are correct. I apologize for the outburst. And as it happens, I do not have a boyfriend."
"Really?" Daisy says with a smirk. "No cute boys from school, or anyone you met on the job?"
Ange shakes her head. "No."
"Well," Daisy sighs. "We'll have to close up early some night and go to the pub. Good chance to meet people."
"I," Ange says uncertainly, "I suppose that would be fine. Though, I'm not really interested in a relationship."
"Guess that makes sense. Just starting out on your own, first full-time job? Don't want to get involved with a guy that'll just drain your time and money?"
"Something like that."
"So, question. The info I got from the agency says you've got experience as a waitress. I didn't question that because they're reliable, but I have to wonder?"
"Oh. Well, I was told, once I turned 13, that I had to start working. The agency found several part-time positions for me starting then, but none were long-term, let alone leading to anything full-time."
"Gotcha. I guess once you turned 16 they sent you here? Since I'm looking for a long-term girl."
"Yes. I ... well, in point of fact, today was my 16th birthday."
"Oh! You should've said something earlier. I'd have set something aside for you."
"Well, it's fine."
"Still, happy birthday."
"Thank you."
Ange finally drains her whisky, and sets her empty glass on the table. Daisy starts to tip the bottle over it, glancing at her questioningly. She nods, and Daisy fills the glass.
They drink in silence for several more minutes. When Ange drains her second glass, she politely declines to have more. "I believe that I'm going to turn in."
"Yeah. Long day. Good day though."
"Yes."
Ange starts to stand. She wobbles, her eyes crossing. Daisy laughs, and wraps an arm around Ange's midsection.
"Drunk just from two glasses?"
"I," Ange says, blinking. "I don't drink. I'm convinced that is more alcohol than I have ever before had in my life."
"Huh. By the time I was your age I was downing half a bottle a night."
Ange frowns at her. "I don't think that's a good thing, though."
Daisy laughs again, and helps her to her bedroom. Ange plops down on the bed, jostling her satchel. she frowns at it, and sets it on the ground.
"You didn't mention anything about pyjamas."
Ange blushes. "I ... didn't expect to be spending the night at your place."
"But at a hotel."
Ange shrugs.
"It's fine, you can borrow from me. One sec."
Ange nods, and Daisy leaves the room. She opens her closet, and selects a dark blue pyjama top.
"It's probably a bit big," Daisy says as she walks back into Ange's room. "It'll do until we can get you something."
Ange nods. "It's fine I'm sure."
Daisy tosses it to her, and then takes a deep breath. "Well. Good night, Ange. Sleep well, and I look forward to another productive day tomorrow."
"Yes. Sleep well. Oh, and Daisy?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For everything."
Daisy smiles. "Don't mention it, kid."
Notes: Just for clarification, I use original names, since Ange and Charlotte don't permanently switch places in this story's continuity, and Daisy (Dorothy) doesn't assume her mother's name after running away from home.