(Inspiration: en/artworks/96462884)
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. Rain, dripping down the café glass, veiling the outside.
Vatista understood rain was an unfavourable weather condition for humans. Even though it no longer turned their roads into mud, their emotions weren't any less swayed by it. Given the health of even the least fit occupants here, it would take 5 hours out in the rain for the chance of a serious health risk to rise above 8%, and the clouds would lift in 3 hours and 14 minutes. Yet they grumbled that they couldn't leave. Simply incorrect. The rain was no threat to these hunters of mammoths. Just an inconvenience.
How fickle. How peculiar.
If any of these humans were swallowed by the Hollow Night, how many would survive to become in-births? Few. None? They were, after all, not practiced warriors. Too preoccupied with the toil of their newfound lives. The burden of the morning commute had replaced the old trips to the river. That was a dense concept for Vatista to absorb.
Did the Master foresee this state of humanity, despite scattering his gift? Did he plan for it? What an exhausting question, even with all her power.
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter.
This brewed drink on her table. Its warmth rubbed Vatista's hands through its plastic cup. Laced with stimulants and flavour. High in comfort. Terrible nutrition. It would leave her thirsty afterwards, ironically. It did only one thing well - relaxation. Something she never needed.
The other tables were spread out. A couple of men talked conspiracy theories. Two women caught up on how different they'd become. A barista checked the tip jar for the fifth time that hour. A boy gazed longingly out the dripping window, his dreams private. Warm beverages grew cold between them all.
Vatista just watched them. As she had always done.
This was, after all, her purpose. Thus far. The master's intentions were to her what the meaning of life was to these people. Something enigmatic hummed in her head about that.
What different was she from them, really. Just a bit more aware of her function, and more assertive in implementing it. On this side of the void, that's all that mattered. Wasn't it?
These questions did not shake Vatista's soul. But they made her sleepy.
Sleeping somehow gave all the needed answers without ever raising a question. That was ideal. Valuable. Nice. It would mean time not spent fulfilling her function, while she recuperated.
But ironically, in front of her was a beverage designed to keep people awake. High in comfort. Terrible nutrition. Caffeine and sugar brimmed beneath the foam beneath the cup. There were humans who built their entire lives around consuming at least one of these after they woke up. Some built comfort around that, the same comfort that they found from finding a safe source of calories in an era where calories were scarce. And it would give this drone that same buzz as the people around her.
But that didn't sound optimal.
By what metric, she couldn't say. It just wasn't.
Call Vatista cynical by human standards, but perhaps what she deemed the best function of this plastic cup was its warmth in her hands. A warm sensation, sheltered from the cold rain, after so long feeling neither warmth nor cold. Maybe she'd just hold onto it like this, and see what happened.
Maybe, she'd let out just a little yawn. Maybe, if she rested her head on her arms for a bit...cheek by the toasty cup...
Pitter-patter...
...pitter...patter...
Hyde eventually got to the café. Stupid rain, holding him up. Stupid umbrella, getting blown over a bridge by a strong wind. But he made it there for closing time, as a crowd of people idly shuffled out. He waited to let some pass and elbowed in past the rest. Just in time to find Vatista...sleeping on the table?
And in the hoodie he got her. Adorable.
"Do you know this girl, young man? She was waiting for a while." The barista asked as he cleaned tables.
"Yeah, she's my lil' sis. She likes to stop and think. Thinks a bit too much. Why, what will I do with her?" Petting her silvery hair, chuckling heartily.
Easy answer. He'd drape his school jacket over her head, put her on his back, and walk her home to the nearest bus. Vatista slept soundly through the march, with nary a drop of rain on her when she awoke, safely home. A little less ponderous, but a bit more learned.
Hyde woke up the next day with pneumonia.