The Authoress
Ah. The midget was beginning to catch on to her game.
Perhaps she should stop calling them a midget. They weren't that small; their height resembled to that of a child's. Perhaps they were affected by dwarfism? Then again, it could just as well be the norm for others of his kind to maintain similar statures. Or it could be a side effect of their planet's gravity. It wouldn't be the first time she'd seen any of those things happen and more. She wasn't interested in looking through their mind for the answers. That would be cheating. In any case, it didn't matter what she called them. Thoughts like this were nothing more than products of her current idleness.
They didn't seem to be responding, seeming to settle for searching for something in her eyes, with the intensity of the end of the universe that kept replaying itself beyond the windows of varying models adorning the walls of the Restaurant. The Authoress knew, however, that they were merely lost in thought. She may not be eager to delve into the depths of someone's mind needlessly but she had no qualms about skimming through a person's thought process - discreetly, of course. After all, it gave her the full experience; when reading a story, one often knows what each character is thinking, things that other characters are often not aware of.
But 'Sandra' knew none of these things. 'Sandra' was only a teenager from the average masses, except that she had the ability to walk between alternate Earths. So, with an uneasy grin, 'Sandra' shifted her attention to...Cledwynn, he had said?
"I'm Sandra," she said. Then, with a teasing lilt to her voice, she added, "With two 'A's and an 'R'."
The Authoress hadn't missed his suspicions on 'Sandra'. His thought process was of the analytical sort, the kind that took apart every action, every word, every little detail piece by piece. She'd expected him to sense something off about 'Sandra' sooner or later. Just as she had expected it when his body refused to sustain any of the drink he'd just consumed. The curse that had been placed on him, as she had thought, had not been tweaked to its fullest, possible potentials. It was most likely done so deliberately as it was, after all, a curse, not a blessing, or even a spell.
'Sandra' opened her mouth to say more after that but the midget who'd been staring at her finally decided to speak up, asking her where'd she get it from.
"Wha-?" Her eyes followed their gaze to her mug. "Oh! I got it from the bartender over there." She gestured towards said bartender behind the counter. Then her brain registered what she'd just heard and she winced, shooting the midget a sympathetic look. "Do you want some? You sound like you need it." The mug was still warm in her hands as she offered the mug to the midget. "It's coffee. Black." She'd read somewhere that coffee soothed sore throats once.
The Authoress had made a decision. She'd continue her little charade until someone called her out on it. It'd be far more interesting than simply making chit-chat with the other patrons. She didn't suppose Zig counted; having telepathy, after all, was cheating.
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Carlyle
Single Malt