At Harry's, Kate decides to have a decent cup of coffee and catch up on a
semblance of a normal life. She takes a magazine and today's paper from
the counter and walks over to one of the window tables. Sunlight. Humans.
Traffic. Normal people going about their normal lives, unaware of
witches, or Hunters, or the Solomon, or the secrets buried within that
organization. At times, she almost envied those ignorant creatures. At
times. She flips through the newspaper and shakes her head. And at times,
it seems humans are doing very well to destroy themselves without the help
of witches. There are more reports of scandals, murders, and man-made
plagues that have nothing to do with witches, and, in a sense, she's glad
she doesn't have to deal with that. Witches are such a select breed,
especially since it's been over three hundred years since the coven went
underground, and the STN-J deals with only the dangerous ones, not the
everyday muddle of criminals roaming the streets. Boy, she'd be depressed
if she were a regular cop if she had to deal with the everyday rabble.
The owner brings over a steaming mug of French coffee and sighs when he sees what she's reading. "Sometimes I wonder if I should continue to stock those," he says in his gentle voice.
"Don't stop," she says, "we need reminders of why we're doing our jobs. So people like these," she folds the paper and points to a marathon winner, "can go about their lives. Even if most people notice stories like these," she refolds the paper to the front page. Nice, almost Miss America-type answer, but it's relatively safe. And it was the reason why she joined the Solomon organization, but not why she's staying in it.
The old man chuckles. "I'm surprised you still look at the world that way, even after being a part of the STN-J."
She smiles back, but for different reasons. "I have to. Otherwise, I'd go a little mad." Her smile widens. "Not that I don't look at the world a little differently anyways."
The old man shakes his head. "Don't lose sight of what's important," he reminds her, and pats her shoulder.
I never have, she thinks, I've always looked out for myself. "Thanks for the coffee," she says, stirring syrup into her drink. Kate watches as the owner glides away, then flips idly through the magazine. Sometimes she gazes outside, watching the traffic increase for rush hour, and the normal humans going about their normal lives, before returning to the magazine. Sometimes she idly runs a hand through her long black hair, and smiles briefly when the owner refills her cup.
Despite the caffeination, it isn't long before her eyelids droop, and she rests a heavy head on her hand. None of the regulars mind the dozing woman, as she looks graceful asleep as she does awake, almost picture perfect in repose. Even the owner is loathe to wake her, since the dark circles under eyes made him give her decaf rather than pure French roast. It isn't until her communicator shrilly beeps that she startles awake.
The owner brings over a steaming mug of French coffee and sighs when he sees what she's reading. "Sometimes I wonder if I should continue to stock those," he says in his gentle voice.
"Don't stop," she says, "we need reminders of why we're doing our jobs. So people like these," she folds the paper and points to a marathon winner, "can go about their lives. Even if most people notice stories like these," she refolds the paper to the front page. Nice, almost Miss America-type answer, but it's relatively safe. And it was the reason why she joined the Solomon organization, but not why she's staying in it.
The old man chuckles. "I'm surprised you still look at the world that way, even after being a part of the STN-J."
She smiles back, but for different reasons. "I have to. Otherwise, I'd go a little mad." Her smile widens. "Not that I don't look at the world a little differently anyways."
The old man shakes his head. "Don't lose sight of what's important," he reminds her, and pats her shoulder.
I never have, she thinks, I've always looked out for myself. "Thanks for the coffee," she says, stirring syrup into her drink. Kate watches as the owner glides away, then flips idly through the magazine. Sometimes she gazes outside, watching the traffic increase for rush hour, and the normal humans going about their normal lives, before returning to the magazine. Sometimes she idly runs a hand through her long black hair, and smiles briefly when the owner refills her cup.
Despite the caffeination, it isn't long before her eyelids droop, and she rests a heavy head on her hand. None of the regulars mind the dozing woman, as she looks graceful asleep as she does awake, almost picture perfect in repose. Even the owner is loathe to wake her, since the dark circles under eyes made him give her decaf rather than pure French roast. It isn't until her communicator shrilly beeps that she startles awake.