Your name is Roxy Lalonde, and today is a lovely day. The sky isn't overcast, unlike what the weather man had predicted, which is a lovely change for once. The sun is shining ever so subtly, casting brilliant shadows here and there, clouds perky and coating the light blue sky like…the creamer in your coffee, creating little curls of your own personal clouds in the frothy liquid. Yes, a perfect analogy. The ones about the foam from breaking waves crashing to shore are so over done after all, not to mention too chaotic for such a dainty scene.
Hm. You'll have to remember that, Janey would love that one. Little heiress to the baking empire her mother holds and all. You sigh, looking up from the slightly chipped mug, bring it up and take a sip of the sugary sweet drink, the warmth of it spreading and blossoming as it goes down. It's not as if you really need the extra warmth, the day outside is balmy and pleasant, but you've grown attached to the creature comfort, and anyways, it's much more healthy than your previous little pick me up.
You glance around slyly, eyes sliding smoothly from one patron to the next, no one even suspecting a thing. It lights a little glow of pleasure in you, being able to observe and read others so easily, and get away with it as well! Dirk would be able to learn a thing or two from you, heh.
Speaking of Dirk, where is the fellow? He promised to meet you around noon today and it's almost half past.
You take another swig of your drink, (still not as good as your usual morning sip of tequila, but it's tacky to drink so early, plus, being tipsy isn't exactly the best for the job) searching the place methodically, one table to the next- looking for the 'wind-swept' mop of blond hair you know so well, and his ridiculous anime shades he wears around, in the name of 'irony.' Pfff. Dork.
Somehow he's managed to sidle up to your table, without you even realizing, at least not until his Texan drawl questions almost mockingly, dryly, "Can I getcha a drink darlin'?" He plops right down into a chair, mirroring your own, propping his elbow on the table, the palm of his hand cupping his sun kissed cheek, freckles sprinkled all over the tanned skin. It's become somewhat of an inside joke for the two of you, for him to jokingly tempt you with a alcoholic beverage or two, even though he knows you've sworn off drinking for the most part. Well, you said you wouldn't drink until noon now. Close enough.
"Naw, I don't drink, sugarcube, least wises not this early in the day," You drawl back, enough of your old southern accent seeping in to raise eyebrows from others, re-pinning you as a 'southern belle.' Interesting. You lock eyes with him, even through the obscuring plastic of his shades, pink boring into orange, winking, as the others blandly assume the two of you are siblings- there's a resemblance, to be fair. Same blonde hair, exotic eyes, dimples, though he's got freckles and slightly more tanned skin.
He looks amused.
"Sweetheart, y'all got it all under wraps?"
"Course I do, sugar plum."
After all, you are Roxy Lalonde, top private eye of the city.
Heh, who does he think you are?