She kept looking back to the hands of her watch ticking away. This much coffee could not be bad for a person, could it? Wait, how many cups has she had?
Blanking on the number, Fumeko fluttered her lashes till she regained some clarity. The noises of the other café goers filtered into her ears and she glanced to the awning she was under. Propping up her arm on the glass table, she sighed and rested her chin on it.
Posters detailing safe evacuation methods were plastered on the glass of the café—the tape still fresh. Finally, Fumeko heard heeled footsteps along the bricks. "Tiffany," she got up.
The blonde in question had arrived, dressed to the nines as usual and in splendorous makeup. "Time has been unkind to oneself and as such, apologies to mine paramour for the delay," she curtsied in greeting.
