The whispers instigated actions as people began clicking pictures and recording videos. The ruckus was enough to reel out the frantic manager, issuing apologies to Drew, "Forgive me miss, she's a new hire, let me help you," and escorted her to the security room.
In the camera's footage, they saw a masked and hooded man enter the cafe and tap the waitress' shoulder. She was in the middle of carrying an order so he slipped the piece of paper in her shirt pocket and said something inaudible to her face before walking out.
Though, Drew noticed that the man was barely an inch taller than the waitress. She turned to face the girl beside her and deduced that they stood on the same eye level. Her memory reeled back to the man in the church, whom she had embarrassingly back-hugged, and figured that she would merely reach his chest.
"It's a different man," Drew sighed, "A lackey or an underling." She turned to face the sweaty manager and bowed to apologise, "Forgive me for causing you an inconvenience."
"Oh, madam! please, no!" the manager exclaimed and doubled over into a lower bow. The waitress too followed suit.
"I should get going now," Drew said as she stood up straight and patted the duo on their backs.
"B-but, may we inconvenience you with a request, if you don't mind, Madam Vinchester?" The manager asked as he straightened his back and tightened his shirt.
"And what may that be?"
A glossy paper was unrolled over one of the tables and Drew's hand hovered over it with a thick permanent marker. Lips pursed and brows raised, she stared at the large square space, wondering how to utilise it to the fullest. A crowd stuck to the table's edges, forming a semi-circle in front of Drew, expecting to witness the making of a masterpiece right before their eyes.
Drew gulped. Surely, as the owner of the biggest design company, she was expected to have mastered art — a common misconception on the behest of her humble coder self. People tended to forget her identity as the creator of the App, 'Florence,' and substitute it as the owner of the brand, 'Florence.'
Drew sighed, desperately regretting the absence of Aurora as she touched the tip of the marker to the paper. She would never have been in this predicament if Aurora was present. Oh, well, fuck it, she thought and began writing.
[refer author's note for the program]
What people thought would look like an original piece of art was turning out to be lines of code written in a running handwriting. Under five minutes, the table's worth of square paper was filled up with words and symbols indicating some strange code about "heart" and "rain." At the right corner, Drew signed the paper and wrote the date, 24th July of '24.
"All done!" She exclaimed and let the pen roll off from her hands.
The manager stared, eyes scrunched and face pushed up to express confusion yet gratefulness. "We're...uh, highly obliged," the man coughed and picked up the paper to roll, "We will have it framed and hang it in Robin's forever. It shall be a generational heirloom, ha ha, along with the photograph," he laughed, pointing at the blank Polaroid sitting in the waitress' hand. It was a picture Drew took with all the occupants of the cafe.
"Oh please, I shall be a regular and bring even better people here, until then," Drew bowed gently, a corporate smile lacing her face and bade the crowd adieu.
"Open up the paper!" Someone from the crowd exclaimed.
"We wanna see, yes!" Another followed.
A round of agreement chorused and compelled the manager into unrolling the paper.
"Do you understand it?" The manager asked, looking at his staff.
The workers merely shook their heads while the crowd clicked picture after picture of the paper. One of the people ran the code under a scanner and it ended up showing him a box of hearts on his phone screen that would burst into a rain of hearts.
"Woah, look at this!" He exclaimed as he flipped his phone for everyone to see, "This is what she wrote in code!"
"That is so cool!!"
"I wanna try it as look!"
"Ohhh so pretty!"
Whilst the inside of the stony cafe bustled with praises, the one on the receiving end crouched outside the door. She pressed her knees to her chest, buried her head, scrunched her eyes close and pressed her hands to her ears.
Drew needed to concentrate.
Owen was missing. She had a vague idea of where he lived but not his actual location. If she reported the case, the matter would blow up disproportionately and cause a lot of menace. Her company had just entered a sensitive period and she couldn't handle any losses.
Why her?
Drew had developed Florence when she was 21, struggling to make ends meet. Florence wasn't any other clothing app that would offer discounts, let people browse through international brands and provide comfortable customer service. No. The reason Florence blew up was because of its unique User Interface (UI) which introduced the concept of 'Everyone can be a Designer.'
On Florence, customers could make an account for free and start designing their own clothes without the burden of obtaining resources. The app's extensive database would let them select the fabric, pattern, style, print, size and fit of their choice — providing 100% customisation for all. And after placing the order and paying for it, a tailor would be assigned to it and the process would be completed in a maximum of 7 days for casual clothing.
People had a choice to make their creations public in hopes that someone else would like their design and buy the same exact one, hence letting them be a "Designer," who would earn patented cuts. Though, if people chose to not make their work public, they would still have an unique outfit to call their own at the end of the day.
Florence not only opened the market for creativity but also provided employment to rural women who struggled with opportunities and resources. The company would transport the required materials to the tailor who would then make the dress and transport it back to the customer. The convoluted middle chain, in the project's early days, was borne single-handedly by Drew who would procure the goods on a local level and deliver them to a tailor to get the outfit done.
Though, after receiving stage C funding, Florence got into a more comfortable situation and began expanding into not only casual clothing but Wedding gowns, lingerie, sportswear and recently jwellery.
Drew had successfully passed the 'Build your own Jwellery,' campaign by closing deals with big raw material companies and individual designers. Soon enough, she would be launching the 'Build your Handbag,' feature as well.
The creative aspect and earning opportunities, not to mention the honor of being called a 'designer' lured in loyal consumers from all big corporations, making Florence the enemy of many.
If Drew were to count the number of people to whom she had caused losses, her fingers wouldn't be enough. Though, not everyone of her haters and grudgeholders would be running behind her like bloodsuckers demanding vengeance.
They did not have enough power.
Her direct competitors for the award were Gianna Australis, a single mother running a multi-million baby products company; Beena Tristan, a fifteen year old streamer with a successful gaming brand; Esme Jonathan, owner of the most successful shopping mall in the nation — the sales of which had significantly dropped after the launch of Florence; and lastly, Claire Claudius, the woman of Drew's nightmares and the Queen of, 'Build your own Food,' model.
Which one of them had it out for her?
"Surely it wouldn't be Claire," Drew whispered as she opened her eyes and let her hands off of her ears. The sounds of distant cars honking and surpassing eachother, the chatter of kids playing around the block, the chirping of birds from the treetops — all of the world rushed back into her senses.
Her eyes readjusted to the brightness and she stood up. Though she was wearing platform heels, the sudden act of standing up after being crouched for so long made her numb legs trip over her own feet.
As gravity pushed Drew like an agitated lover, an old memory resurfaced.
Snow had ceased the ground as its own domain and deposited high enough to create a grave for every step anyone dared to take. A young Drew sat buried outside of the local church, whimpering over the lack of people inside.
Though the interiors were warm and fresh bread with soup was being served, the only occupants who had arrived were the homeless folks from downhill, in pursuit of free food.
Surely, it wasn't that cold that an entire town decided to not attend the funeral. Drew was in pursuit of proving them all wrong by sitting outside the church, so that they could all witness from the windows of their cozy rooms, witness that the coldness of their hearts was the only cold thing in town.
Her shivering bones protested against the steamy strength of her will, a part of her brain compelled her to get out of the delusion, uttering, "They would not even care if you freeze and die here. It would just be another unpleasant inconvenience for them."
But through it all, Drew stayed unmoving, until —
"Excuse me?" A voiced asked.
"Leave me alone," Drew grumbled in reply.
"I would, if you tell me where the Claudius' are?" The voice asked again.
"I don't know where they are. Why would I know?!" Drew snapped and jolted her head to look up at the source of the voice.
It was a boy, clad in a thin jacket with its hood covering his face and washed out jeans. Beside him were two scratches suitcases, one of which was limping owing to a broken wheel.
"Aren't you Dreumary?" The boy asked.
"Unfortunately," Drew replied. Maybe it was the poverty reeking off of him or maybe it was the slight shiver in his voice which dissolved Drew's stubbornness. Maybe it was the fact they were both stranded by the same family that made her stand up and reach out to him.
"Who are you?" She asked, taking a step towards him.
Though, the numbness in feet caught her off guard and she propelled forward to fall face-first into a snowy grave of her own making.
But, maybe, it was his lack of warm and constructive clothing or the agility of his kind heart that he lept forward and caught Drew by her waist before she could reach into potential doom by hypothermia.
It was then, on the coldest day of December, supported by his firm hands, when she had seen his face for the first time. The boyish frown, the raven hair frozen over his forehead like sharp thorns set to stab into his dark eyes. A sharp yet slender nose, a dainty jaw and a boxy smile.
"I'm Aldric, remember?"