@TalijaKey@MusokaMia watched as the man she was sure was half-mad took the waitress - Delilah, that was her name - by the hand and spun her around, skipping and dancing to a tune only he could hear. But it was a light-spirited tune, to be sure, and Mia couldn't help the surprised laugh that bubbled from between her lips. The queue of customers reared away as Dan came to a halt by the counter, and demanded that Delilah and Mia take the tip. Which was - to say the least - incredibly generous. $200.
"Today is the best day of my life the least I can do is share a bit of happiness. Today I am meeting my soulmate," said the man.
Soulmate. Mia froze, and looked down at her own wrist. Oh.
She had forgotten, hadn't she? Had spent the best part of twenty years mulling over the date etched into her skin, committing its every arch and edge to memory; had even fallen asleep countless times with the name and date glowing in her mind's eye. And when the day had come - finally, actually come - she had been too preoccupied with the move to this country to even think of it when the sun rose.
The jingle of the bell as the door was opened shook her from her reverie. Dan turned back to say,
"Mia! I am not yet done with the Sundae! Coming right back! I am not letting my soulmate slip out my claws!" She grinned at the character who ducked out the door, swiftly taking in the twist of metal on the street that was Jeep and Porsche. She could hardly tell where one car ended and the other began. Through the glass, Mia could see an elderly woman and a strange blonde-headed figure seated in the monstrous blue-white Jeep. But there didn't seem to be any casualties. Only a very, very angry driver on the docket.
She turned her attention back to the line of people before her, scribbling names on plastic cups and weaving from counter to behind to prepare their beverages. The bell jangled again, and as Delilah stepped forth to greet the newcomer, Mia's wrist began to burn.
Sharply, she stepped back from the counter, under the critical eyes of a customer who had been mid-order.
"Oh!" She gripped her wrist, as though quick pressure would lessen the sting.
"...and a frappucino with that," the suited man dragged his syllables, appearing prepared to grab his suitcase and find a comparatively saner coffee shop to find his caffeine at.
Mia nodded, struggling for composure.
"Name, please?" Her eyes darted around the shop as her hand squeakily worked the nib of the pen over the plastic cup. Her grip was tense, a vice, from the burning. She glanced up, and looked around the non-plussed man to see the ever-growing queue of people. She could hardly abandon the counter to approach every table and ask to see their wrists, could she? Delilah - who was terrified of the grinding machine and the way it seemed to growl at every hand laid on it - might be willing to switch places. Her heart bobbed the slightest, caught between desperate hope and stark realism. Maybe.
As Mia turned to make the man's frappucino, she heard a grunt of impatience and disapproval. "A waste of my time," she heard over her shoulder, followed on the heels by the efficient tapping of fingers over a phone screen. Mia's eyes narrowed at the machine, but she bit her tongue, even if the man didn't look to be a tipper. Twirling around with her apron billowing around her, she deposited the drink on the counter.
"That will be three-fifty, sir." As the man muttered and searched for change, Mia's fingertips fluttered anxiously on the marble, her gaze wandering the store. It fell on the man Delilah was attending to. His hands were in gloves and he wore a coat - even with the sun out. Well-groomed and sitting poised, he held Mia's attention captive for far too long, and she started when coins splattered onto the countertop before. To the irritable customer, she echoed verbatim from shifts of learned phrases,
"Have a good day." It was going to be a long one for her.
Musoka
