plant prince
©

scindeva:

                                             ( zhanfang ; permanent starter call )

⊰ Ⅲ So long had it been since she had last visited this
                coffee shop. So quaint in its layout; its round tables
                & their white lacy tablecloths all but complete with
                seating that pulls together the classical old-worlde
                nuance of the establishment. It’s comparable to a
                “hole in the wall”, yet remains quite popular.

                Narcoleptic as she is, it’s odd to see Viola with any
                variant of caffeine, but she finds it difficult to resist
                the aesthetic of the joint itself on occasion. 

              ❝ Salted caramel mocha. ❞

                Attentions shifts from the decor when she hears a
                barista call her order, light clapping of heels on
                hardware floor as she meanders to the counter.
                She’s quick to notice, however, that it isn’t her name
                written upon the foam cup.     But the server looks at
                her as if it were. She glances down at the cup once
                more.

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              ❝ ’ Klaus …mm…
                 This isn’t my order.❞

For most of his life, he would have never thought 
he’d be so infatuated with coffee. But in the days 
following his return from earth, he found a taste
for the bitter treat. Now mornings seemed strange
without its morning coffee, without the rich, dark
fragrance filling the air. 

He actually quite enjoyed this little establishment,
its old world charm reminded him a little of home.
Of the little shops tucked under castles and city
walls, on the edge of grand forests or great lakes. 

And the call for his name brought him back into
focus. Anchoring a mind slowly drifting into the 
wind. Then a woman walked forth, picking up 
the cup that he thought to be his. Perhaps he 
was wrong but she looked a slight bewildered,
not fully accepting the beverage. 

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“That would be me. And that would be my order.”

He noticed the scribble on the cup to give the 
slight semblance of his name. But from the look
of it, the scrawl was unintelligible. It read more 
like ‘hlaas’ than his own name. Klaus reached 
for the cup, his hand met with hers– only slightly
touching.

“You can have it. I can wait, let it be my little present you.”

God. It was only eight in the morning but he was
already flirting.