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Description
I busy myself by scurrying over to the counter and trying to fix my hair. Neither works very well, though the former is something that should be doable in such a situation. I panic and start to talk, "Yes, it's when you take a concentrated essence and add it to warm water, or I suppose it could be cold, I've seen it that way, I mean, all iced and all for those who want it like that, but I really think it tastes proper warm, but that's just--" I am silenced by a delicate laugh.

His laugh struggles out of his throat and perfumes the air with strawberry shades. I blush a shade darker and wait, disgruntled, for a few seconds until he stops laughing and simply smiles. "I think I should know that, but thank you for the insight! I'll have one of whatever you like best, thank you. I see it fitting, that way."

I start to think of what my favorite is. Cherry is nice I decide, but what if he's more into bitter things, or something more aromatic? And what if it turns out he hates the taste of glucose paste? I've heard of those that just hate sweets, so that would be horrid! Turning around, I put on the pot to boil.

I simply decide to give him what I like best, and to replace it if he hates it. I'm safe that way.

I turn back around and quite regret it as soon as I do so. He is staring at me, eyes half closed over deep brown spheres. A loud rumbling from a transport car interrupts my lack-there-of of thoughts.

"I, uh, it'll be just several minutes, okay?" I study my wrists and find my nails are looking quite rancid.

"That's okay. Most of the time teas take that or more, even. I suppose you haven't a name, do you?" I quickly start searching my mind for an alias. What would this man like?

"Bryce." I immediately regret telling him the truth. I need no more people knowing my name! I've got five that do, already!

"Jeer." He replies, looking me in the eye. "Jeer?" "My mother died before I could hate her for it, and I never knew my father." I smile at his jest and decide he isn't a bad sixth.

"So you've no family?" "None that I wish to know of." "I'd say that I'm sorry, but I don't know of that's anything to be mourned." I laugh nervously and turn around to busy myself with the process of making tea. I glance at him and try to guess his height. A head or so taller than myself, I decide.

The scent of cherry tea fills the air and I decide that it should be close to being done. I start to add on the sweeteners, and or some reason I'm praying that he loves sweets. I've never met anyone really bad that hated sweets.

I hand him the polyester cup full of liquid and hesitate. "Would you like any of my other services? I get off work around 21, and have no plans..."

He takes the cup in one hand and gently slides the other into a pocket. Smiling he nods, "I might be back again, then." He exits the door with the same surreal grace he came with and I feel lonely.

I exit the counter area for the second time that day by placing one foot in front of the other. I walk this way because it's simply the only way I know how. I can't scrawl, I can't drift, I can't drip. Walking with one foot in front of the other I make my way to the back of the store.

My day goes by in a blur. I can't even remember how many people came in; "Three more? Twenty more? I really don't know."

Sydney strolls in at 20-and-fifty, with a gentle giggle. "I see a man outside. Is he for you, Love?" I grin at her, "If he isn't, he will be soon!"

We fill the corners of the store with conversation until she announces that it's her shift. We hug as a farewell and I close the door with a 'ching.' Some passerby's are milling around with their awkward conversation and bad attempts at looking at upper-levelers. Two delivery carts full of packages are being pushed around by middle-aged men while they keep off muggers with their 10K Electrospheres. Just the average, early-night happenings.

Except he's outside. The man from before. I don't know what to think at first, other than "How did you like the tea?" So I ask him, if only to be polite.

He smirks and crosses one ankle over the other. I take note of how thin his legs are in comparison to the rest of him. "I liked it. Quite sweet." I blush and let out an especially large breath. "That's great."

He crinkles his eyes and I half expect them to make noises like dry leaves, but they don't. He turns half around and beckons me, "My place, then?" I start to grin before returning to my business attitude, "Lead the way, good sir!"

"Just Jeer, or even Jay, if you prefer." I begin to follow my 'Just Jeer or Jay,' not sure yet just which I do prefer.

Description
I busy myself by scurrying over to the counter and trying to fix my hair. Neither works very well, though the former is something that should be doable in such a situation. I panic and start to talk, "Yes, it's when you take a concentrated essence and add it to warm water, or I suppose it could be cold, I've seen it that way, I mean, all iced and all for those who want it like that, but I really think it tastes proper warm, but that's just--" I am silenced by a delicate laugh.

His laugh struggles out of his throat and perfumes the air with strawberry shades. I blush a shade darker and wait, disgruntled, for a few seconds until he stops laughing and simply smiles. "I think I should know that, but thank you for the insight! I'll have one of whatever you like best, thank you. I see it fitting, that way."

I start to think of what my favorite is. Cherry is nice I decide, but what if he's more into bitter things, or something more aromatic? And what if it turns out he hates the taste of glucose paste? I've heard of those that just hate sweets, so that would be horrid! Turning around, I put on the pot to boil.

I simply decide to give him what I like best, and to replace it if he hates it. I'm safe that way.

I turn back around and quite regret it as soon as I do so. He is staring at me, eyes half closed over deep brown spheres. A loud rumbling from a transport car interrupts my lack-there-of of thoughts.

"I, uh, it'll be just several minutes, okay?" I study my wrists and find my nails are looking quite rancid.

"That's okay. Most of the time teas take that or more, even. I suppose you haven't a name, do you?" I quickly start searching my mind for an alias. What would this man like?

"Bryce." I immediately regret telling him the truth. I need no more people knowing my name! I've got five that do, already!

"Jeer." He replies, looking me in the eye. "Jeer?" "My mother died before I could hate her for it, and I never knew my father." I smile at his jest and decide he isn't a bad sixth.

"So you've no family?" "None that I wish to know of." "I'd say that I'm sorry, but I don't know of that's anything to be mourned." I laugh nervously and turn around to busy myself with the process of making tea. I glance at him and try to guess his height. A head or so taller than myself, I decide.

The scent of cherry tea fills the air and I decide that it should be close to being done. I start to add on the sweeteners, and or some reason I'm praying that he loves sweets. I've never met anyone really bad that hated sweets.

I hand him the polyester cup full of liquid and hesitate. "Would you like any of my other services? I get off work around 21, and have no plans..."

He takes the cup in one hand and gently slides the other into a pocket. Smiling he nods, "I might be back again, then." He exits the door with the same surreal grace he came with and I feel lonely.

I exit the counter area for the second time that day by placing one foot in front of the other. I walk this way because it's simply the only way I know how. I can't scrawl, I can't drift, I can't drip. Walking with one foot in front of the other I make my way to the back of the store.

My day goes by in a blur. I can't even remember how many people came in; "Three more? Twenty more? I really don't know."

Sydney strolls in at 20-and-fifty, with a gentle giggle. "I see a man outside. Is he for you, Love?" I grin at her, "If he isn't, he will be soon!"

We fill the corners of the store with conversation until she announces that it's her shift. We hug as a farewell and I close the door with a 'ching.' Some passerby's are milling around with their awkward conversation and bad attempts at looking at upper-levelers. Two delivery carts full of packages are being pushed around by middle-aged men while they keep off muggers with their 10K Electrospheres. Just the average, early-night happenings.

Except he's outside. The man from before. I don't know what to think at first, other than "How did you like the tea?" So I ask him, if only to be polite.

He smirks and crosses one ankle over the other. I take note of how thin his legs are in comparison to the rest of him. "I liked it. Quite sweet." I blush and let out an especially large breath. "That's great."

He crinkles his eyes and I half expect them to make noises like dry leaves, but they don't. He turns half around and beckons me, "My place, then?" I start to grin before returning to my business attitude, "Lead the way, good sir!"

"Just Jeer, or even Jay, if you prefer." I begin to follow my 'Just Jeer or Jay,' not sure yet just which I do prefer.