Coffee and Obscure Literature

What should she do? Should she say hello? Should she ask for her name? Should she say anything at all? Would that be weird or out of the blue? Was it not already terribly obvious that Kanaya had been staring glances at her? If it was, then there was only one word to describe her behavior: creepy.

Kanaya let out a quiet sigh in exasperation. Why was she letting herself get so worked up? She was just a pretty girl in a coffee shop—no big deal. Plus, she could already feel Vriska’s glares urging her to hurry up. She walked back, distractedly weaving through a few tables and chairs. She purposely approached the other woman’s table again, just to get another quick peek.

Of course, she should have known that was a bad idea. However, the notion did not occur to her until her hip bumped a book that sat at the edge of the table and knocked it to the ground. Kanaya stood there, feeling completely mortified and totally unsure if she should pick up the book or flee the scene.

"O-oh, no, that's quite alright."

She's blushing furiously, she can feel it, so she leans down to retrieve the book and replace it on the table, this time safely away from the edge. Anyone else and she would've sent them along with a glare and perhaps a bit of deadpan snark about the offender's intelligence, but now she's all fluster and reassurance? This is getting ridiculous, Lalonde.

"There, no harm done. Don't worry about it."

Your mind goes to opening night of the show. You’re elate for it! Playing for yourself is nice but there’s something very different when you have a crowd to listen it. Well, you’re hoping there’s a crowd… even a little one. Is there such thing as a little crowd?

You might throw a small tantrum if that ends up happening--or at least, want to throw one and then surround yourself in an extra layer of defensive snark instead. You know the three of them will be a hit, as long as there are people to hear them--and Karkat has even spoken of a few other people asking about performing themselves.

George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

You hold your hand against your mouth as a queezy feeling twists in your stomach, and no it’s nothing like butterflies. It felt vile, and gross and ready to come out.

Once you make your way up off the couch, your legs gave out on you as you began to vomit on the carpet away from Rose, on your hands and knees, you couldn’t help but tremble after vomiting twice, a little sob escaped your lips as the bad taste in your mouth made you want to throw up again.

rose help…

Kanaya’s eyes darted around the table as Vriska rambled on and on, desperately trying to find an excuse to at least walk by. She found her chance when Vriska announced that she was too lazy to throw away her napkins.

Until the woman walks past her to discard a handful of napkins in the garbage can, and Rose berates herself. Stupid, stupid, presumptuous and vain. A beautiful woman like that would have absolutely no interest in her, she's just a strange and unsociable child, a stranger in a coffee shop. This woman won't give her the barest thought once she's out of view.

"Wow Rose, didn’t know it wasn’t ok to ask your buddy if their employer might be an ax murder or something without being accused of alternative motives!" you say, trying to laugh it off. The question feels odd and out of place in your mind. You don’t think such things are meant to be lingered on. 

"You must have found some sort of interest in him if you’re getting this far into his brain already," you continue, trying to lead the conversation away from awkward territories. Rose is great, but you worry sometimes about how deep she tries to get in people’s heads. She’s usually right and has a lot of good insight, but sometimes she makes something out of nothing and you have to do back flips over it to prove it.