Little Wanderings [Open]

[Yuri]

(OOC Note: This should have happened on 8/02/16. Just hoping to get Yuri some acquaintances, etc.)

It was a late afternoon on her sixth day at work. A man dressed in the average smart black suit was hanging around outside the office. Noticing that the same man had been there since, bicolored orbs glanced up to the clock hanging on a wall at the side, half an hour ago, Yuri got up from her seat nervously to see if he might need anything.

“Actually, I was hoping to have a coffee break with you.” He responded to her query with a cheesy wink.

“If you are not here to enquire about anything please leave.” The 18 year old responded promptly with an impassive face and retreated back into the office. She closed the door with a resounding thud behind her, leaving a stunned man in her wake.

She liked her job and did not find it proper to have non-related conversations during working hours. It was also a good excuse to turn down men she had no interest in. Back at her desk, her spirit stalkers snickered at her with pitying looks. Yuri ignored them and continued with what Wilson, her boss had asked her to do. He had gone off for a meeting earlier that day and would not be returning to the office.

The creaking of a door alerted her to a new customer.

“Welcome to Wil-” She stopped abruptly when she found herself looking at the same men from earlier, now standing in front of her desk.

“I believe that it's in our best interest to comply with section 69 of the act.”


“I believe it’s best for you to leave the office, lest I have you charged for harassment.” Yuri returned as she heads towards the door with long strides and eventually opened it with one hand while the other asked him with a nonverbal signal to leave.

“If you please Sir.” She told him with a faint smile that did not reach her eyes. Fortunately, the guy took the hint and left, never returning for the rest of her work hours to Yuri’s utmost relief.

When work hours were finally over, Yuri reorganized the files that needed to be seen to by Wilson, placing the ones that were urgent on top of the other less urgent ones before placing them on Wilson's desk for whenever he would come into the office. Once done, she tidied up the place making sure she had not left any important documents out in the open before shrugging on her beige colored coat over her black dress and leaving the office, locking up the place with the spare keys Wilson had given her.

The evening was young and Yuri did not feel the need to head back to Avi’s apartment yet. Thus, she walked down the streets avoiding any form of social contact with passer-bys and into a cafe for a nice cup of hot chocolate. After all, if she was going to help the figures floating behind her, the least she could do was indulge herself in some sugar.

[Clear (DELETED 7068)]

Where has this day gone? No sooner have I arrived for work and shrugged out of my coat that I am tugging it on again. Hours have passed me by in a blink of the eye and it is already time to call it a night and leave my quiet employer to himself. Not wanting to breach the boundaries of employee and employer relationships, I keep a remarkable amount of distance with Mr Parkman. It is not a frosty separation, however. I have no reason to dislike the man as he is very gentle and sweet, but, neither do I want a reason to get too attached to him on a personal level. It is better that I keep things strictly about the business. I have learned that lesson the hard way, and besides, I think Mr Parkman prefers solitude. Still, now that I have finished my shift, I find myself wandering the city with no ambition yet again. I am wide awake and it is too early to retreat to my apartment. I like the fresh air that whistles through my hair and caresses my skin, and I also like the people far too much to hide myself away just yet. Perhaps it is not wise to wander about so carelessly at night, as I have yet to hear any positive news from Teagan regarding the talisman, but I know that I can most likely take care of myself should it come to it. After all, beyond the glossy black hair and Givenchy, I am a witch… or is it Sorcerer now? I never did hear back from Kestrel to confirm it one way or the other.

There is no way to reach out to the young gentleman, so I suppose there is no point in wasting my time on it. Sad that I am for not being able to locate him and learn of his safety, I cannot put my life on hold for a complete stranger. I must decide what I want to do with my life now. I am inspired by bright lights and the smoky, seducing scent of coffee as I approach the high street. It does not take me too long to sniff out the source and shove past the glass doors into a whole new world. It is so bright and warm inside, a complete contrast to the frosty wind that makes my skin tense at the contact. I flinch slightly at the light that invades my night-held eyes, but give myself a moment to appreciate the décor nonetheless. Glossy white furniture, chequered floors with bevelled tiles, clean slate walls, smooth white ceilings, with crystal chandeliers and spotlights, give the place a sense of sophistication and grace. Well-dressed men and women work away on their laptops, proposing budgets and building relationships as they absently sip strong coffee. They could be anywhere in the world and yet they are here; their presence certainly exemplifies this sense of elitist delight within the café and makes me feel welcome. It has the splendid comfort and sophistication of a spa, and the smell… it is invigorating. I cannot deny that I am in awe and want nothing more than to dip in and spoil myself.

I approach the counter and order my signature double espresso. The barista is a charming man dressed in a fine white shirt, his Italian charcoal tie hangs half way down like a lolling tongue that seems to drip from his smile. I am, perhaps, less dismissive of his existence than his usual clientele because he attempts to flatter me and make small-talk rather than focus on his duties. I suppose a double espresso does not take too much of his attention having performed this routine a thousand times before, but as those sharp green eyes look squarely at me, my focus flickers between him and what he is doing with my order. I suppose I am too polite to just ignore him, but neither am I sociable enough to engage past quiet smiles and agreements. Right away the man has picked up on my accent and when he notices that I do not try to speak too much, he uses it as a tool to pry apart my guard and seek me out.

“So where are you from?” he asks, bluntly, before recovering. “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking. You’ve a beautiful accent.”

“Cape Town,” I offer absently tucking an ebony length behind my ear. “South Africa.”

“Oh, wow. Really? How come you came such a long way from home?”

“I… For work. I wanted a change of scenery.”

He beams at me, the type of smile that tugs at his small pink ears. “Got tired of the hot weather and the wide open sky, huh.” When I do not answer him with anything other than the briefest smile, he continues. “That’s ok. You totally don’t have to answer that. I’m just being nosy. My name’s Ken, by the way.”

Ken offers me his hand, but before I take it, I realise that there is a small queue of people forming behind me. “Clear,” I say, the mouse-like strength of my voice does not match the quick, tight grip of my handshake. I notice the perplexity mark his features, the question forming in his head about how such a demure looking female can have such a strong grip. I duck my head away from the questions before they form as he finally retrieves my order. “Thank you.” I say again, and make myself scarce immediately, finding a seat that is as far away from Ken’s line of sight as possible.

[Tayden (DELETED 7355)]

Like every night or so like this one, Tayden was out on the streets, pounding pavement, looking for Teagan; his sister that went missing a handful or so of months ago. The woman just up and vanished without a trace-which wasn't like her. He gave his sister the typical forty-eight hours like the police station told him and then filed a missing persons report. The cops didn't seem overly concerned or anything-one even told Tayden that she was probably tired of something-maybe a boyfriend he didn't know about. Financial strain-anything that never bothered his sister before, or just wasn't happening. If there was a guy in his sister's life, Tayden would absolutely know about it.

As a couple more days went by, along with some calls to the station, wondering if any news or progress had been made, Tayden decided to take matters into his own hands and start looking for leads himself. Someone said they had seen some pink haired girl around his age at a couple cubs. The male knew that wasn't his sister. She didn't do that scene unless he went with her. No way, no how. Not with her aversion to people for the most part. People that weren't him. Tayden didn't even bother going to those clubs Teagan had been rumored to be at a couple nights ago. The pink haired girl, or in his sister's case wasn't Teagan. Some guy said he'd seen a woman with blonde and pink hair working at some pizza place in the northern district near Honeymead. Or was it Elmworth? He couldn't remember, but since it was a blonde haired with pink streaks in it, Tayden knew it wasn't his sister either.

After hours of searching, he's pulling open a door to yet another place of business to show off his sister's wallet sized picture and heads to the counter. Tayden waits in line patiently, but he knows the wait is worth it. He couldn't leave any stone unturned because it was possible that someone-anyone here might have seen his missing sister. While he waits, his eyes look at the menu for the cheapest thing on the menu. He hated going in and bothering people without ordering anything. To him, it seemed rude.

[Yuri]

The first thing Yuri witnessed upon entering the cafe was the bartender trying his luck at charming his way into a lady’s good books. Interesting. Was flirting with strangers here common? Rather daring too, she observed. Back where she lived, interested parties would be accompanied by friends as they stalked their love interest until enough courage had been gathered to ask for a contact number. While a rare few were fortunate enough to get a number, others (which was more often the case) were rejected by a slap or more mere seconds after the request had been made.

Yuri once witnessed such a scene firsthand and it had amused her to no end for the rest of the week. Just recalling it brought a smile to her lips.

Redirecting her attention to the queue, she found about a handful of people in line before her, all appearing to be white collared workers in need of a evening snack or so, but Yuri didn’t mind. Her mind would wander off into the world of unknown anyways so it always felt like a short wait even if there were a few dozens of people in front of her. To the public’s eye, she would appear to be in a trance and passer-bys had even nudged her to see if she were awake only to have those trance like orbs turn on them and blink.

Like she predicted, she found herself at the counter within what seemed like less than a minute but in actuality twenty minutes had gone by. The barista behind the counter gave her a broad smile and asked for her order but she failed to notice this as she stared past him and imparted her order to seemingly no one in particular. The barista was perplexed by this but keyed in her order anyway.

Just when she finished paying for her drink, a floating ‘woman’ came up to her with a request. After some persuasion on the ‘woman’s’ part, the 18 year old medium nods slightly in acceptance and listened to her request much to the other spirits displeasure. They had been following after her all day, queuing up to receive her help, yet she had accepted another spirit’s request before theirs. Yuri felt stares filled with indignation boring into the back of her head but paid no heed to them.

Once the barista returned with her order, Yuri looked at the male with focused bi-colored orbs, parting her reddish pink lips to wet them.

“She doesn’t mind you getting a new lover but please look after the child she left behind for you.” She told him forthrightly without any ill intentions. Her tone was soft but clear so only those who had been in line behind her or nearby the counter would have heard.

With the spirit’s message related, she took her large steaming cup of pleasure giving liquid from the guy’s shocked stiff hands and turned to find the place suddenly filled with people. In actual fact, the place had been slowly packing up with people around the time her mind drifted off elsewhere. She spots a seat opposite an ebony haired lady in a givenchy coat and makes a beeline towards her.

“Is this seat taken?” She asks with the barely visible upturn of her lips.

[Clear (DELETED 7068)]

They say that there is a specific ritual one must follow when drinking espresso. Many say that you must drink an espresso with water to cleanse the palette, that the espresso itself should contain no crema, and that the espresso should also be piping hot and disposed of in one mouthful. I do not follow such rituals, personally. I simply drink the coffee in this manner to please my senses and have thusly inhaled the offering of black vitality. After all, an espresso is like a magnifying glass, it accentuates certain characteristics of the coffee. The concentrated flavours may taste overbearing at first, but over time it becomes so indoctrinated into your system that is little less than an addiction. Espressos are possibly the least understood and most mispronounced way of making coffee. Most people seem to think espressos are simply produced for adrenaline junkies and over-worked professionals attempting to make it through another day. When Luigi Bezzera invented the first espresso machine in 1901, however, he was not trying to turn the average cup of Joe into rocket fuel. Technically speaking, espresso is both a beverage and a brewing method – the emphasis of which being speed. Near-boiling water is forced over finely ground coffee at around nine bars of pressure – nine times the normal amount of atmospheric pressure. And the whole process takes just under a minute – five times less than the waiting time I experienced with Ken.

I am glad that I have chosen a seat around the corner from the ordering counter. Or should I say, I am glad that I received the opportunity to find a seat with such attractive opportunity. The café is evidently very popular and I have skimmed past the rush. Already the café is packed to bursting with more and more people pushing inside, hoping to fill whatever cracks remain. I have stolen a small table near the back of the building, occupying one seat out of a possible four. I did not intend to take up so much space when space seems to be an obvious luxury here, so I am relieved when a young woman approaches and asks if she can be seated. Of course, I would never turn someone away regardless. While I am not so forward as to push sociability on others, as with Mr Parkman, I would not push it away when it comes either. I fully expect that more people will fill whatever spaces remain on my table – or should I say, the table I am occupying. Simply because I sat here first does not make it my territory, though I understand that most people do not follow this ideology. This is why the girl asked to be seated, after all. Social conventions force her to seek acceptance from those in positions of power – it reminds me so much of lions that I suddenly do not feel so far from home.

“No,” I answer her direct question with a soft, welcoming smile. “Please help yourself. There is plenty of room.”

I do not say more than that as social conventions force me to respect her privacy. Simply because we share a table does not obligate us to share lives and stories after all. Though, I cannot claim to not be curious of her origins. The only time I have seen girls with her beauty, style and grace are on runways. Oddly enough, I consider myself in the presence of a celebrity despite the fact that no one other than myself is looking to her with a sort of inquisitive and admiring stare. I rather hope she does not notice my attention, so I disguise it with a rather poor attempt at looking out of the window beyond the decorous curve of her shoulder.

[Yuri]

Yuri’s faint smile widened moderately and she sat gracefully in the seat opposite the kind lady. While it would have been pleasant if the place were less crowded, she did not mind company every once in awhile. Ostensibly, socializing was something the living needed and she had often been told to make herself appear more sociable. So she did. However, every time she did so, only men came her way and women would turn their noses up at her. Such a complicated subject it was, thus her build-up on social anxiety.

Holding the mug with both hands, she took a sip of her delightfully warm cocoa, and relished in its thick milky flavor with closed eyes. It was a while before she subtly felt her table mate’s surveying glance on her though she looked to be trying her best to be unnoticeable.

It was not uncommon for people to stare at her, in fact she had awoken from her foggy mind multiple times to come face to face with someone staring right in her face. There was once she spoke up, and the poor male having long decided she was a wax figurine fainted on the spot from fright. That had been a rather worrisome situation for her. When the male woke up, he had insisted the doctor give her a check-up. What an odd man, though what was truly odd was when the doctor appeared to be considering the man’s request.

Resolute in preventing a similar circumstance from happening, the ex-model turned to look at her table mate, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand in attempt to clear the mistiness in them before refocusing her bi-colored orbs on the lady.

“Do you have a request?” She asked genuinely, thinking she might be a spirit. Usually she would ignore whoever it was that stared at her, be it living or spirit. Only, this lady had been kind enough to share her table, so a return of favor would be most appropriate in her opinion. The others would just have to wait.

[Clear (DELETED 7068)]

Her question throws me for a loop. I feel a frown tightening my brows, my hands fidget nervously in my lap – out of sight. Clearly she has noticed my staring and wants to know the reasons for it. My cheeks get hot, I imagine my skin reddening as though sunburnt. There are many reactions I could perform. For instance, I can pretend not to know what she is asking for, and I simply parrot her question back to her. The lie will only relieve the shame for having been caught staring, but I will still have to accept the fact that I have been deceitful. My hand comes up to brush some fallen lengths of hair back behind my ear, but nervousness causes my fingers to entwine around the very ends of that lock. I hold it briefly, inspecting the fibres of my hair, suspecting split-ends.

“I… no?”

My eyes drift to those two orbs, their colours inharmonious. It intrigues me, hypnotises, and my hand still in my hair. I forget what it was I was going to say. Before this trait was medically understood, there were many myths and fears related to it. According to legends and urban myths, girls born with different coloured eyes were related to, or envied by, fairies because their ties to the supernatural world and the world of man are equal. The Native Americans also refer to those with heterochromia as people who have “ghost eyes”. These people are said to be able to see the Heaven and the Earth at the same time, through each of their different coloured eyes. Sometimes people with heterochromia were even thought to be witches or evil, capable of communing with the dead and inspiring wickedness. While not many people continue to believe in witches and demons, there are echoes of distrust still existing in people today. I feel this is most likely due to basic Human instinct and ignorance, regarding that which is not normal as something unhealthy and dangerous. While I suspect this young lady may have experienced some negativity simply for appearing out of the ordinary, those bi-coloured eyes are very beautiful and intriguing to have.

“I am sorry, I did not mean to stare.”

[Yuri]

The lady’s cheeks grew red telling Yuri she was no spirit. The medium would have returned the blush had she not been momentarily distracted by the spirits that were desperately seeking her attention. It was tough to differentiate the dead from the living sometimes. Especially when they looked just like they were when they were alive.

Lustrous dark strands were smoothly swept back and caught at the ends by long elegant fingers. Yuri watched admiringly, her hair while soft to touch always managed to tangle in the wind and would occasionally look frizzy. When the lady’s eyes decided to drift back up, they locked on Yuri’s and the fingers in her hair stilled as if her mind had drifted elsewhere. Yuri’s head tilts slightly in wonder as she was reminded of her own driftings. Was this what people see when she drifted off? As she continued to observe, a tug on memories long forgotten flashed before her eyes and Yuri found a likely answer. No, it was different. The longer she looked, the more distorted her point of view became and with it the tugging on the lid of entombed dark memories grew stronger. The crowd around them suddenly looked menacing, their eyes full of detest on her being. Panic brewed within her. Abruptly she looked down into her steaming cup and counted the remaining floating marshmallows in an attempt to calm herself, willing dark memories to stay buried within the depths of her mind.

The tugging on unwanted memories stopped instantly when an explanation of sorts was given. Ah, so she had merely been staring in fascination. Some people just could not help but stare at things that were unusual to them. She completely understood and would not hold it against anyone for merely having curiosity. It was how people learned. Nothing wrong with it. A small smile of understanding appeared on the medium’s lips.

“I understand. My eyes tends to do that.” She said while looking ahead of her, looking at nothing in particular.

Dark ash brown strands fell over her shoulders as she brought the wide brimmed cup to her lips with both hands. Placing the cup back down, she spaced out her fingers on the warm cup, absorbing its warmth and showing neatly trimmed oval shaped nails that was free of paint. A sudden thought occurred to her then. Now that they had spoken, wouldn’t it only be right that they introduced themselves? Maybe she would even find a new friend. No harm trying right?

Her eyes find their way to the dark haired lady, her decision made up.

“I’m Yuri. Moved here recently.” She informed with a reserved smile.

[Clear (DELETED 7068)]

“Oh, no… I did not mean that… Well, I was looking at them, but I was not staring or judging... Your eyes are beautiful. Really. You are very beautiful, in fact. You remind me of catwalk models.”

I hate when I am nervous. I cannot stop babbling. The slightest hint that I might have caused her offence has my mouth churning silent thoughts into loud confessions as they are born. Those words are neither refined nor filtered and they express far too much to leave me feeling comfortable. I am telling her that I consider her beautiful from a merely physical perspective, which strikes me as rather odd and devious. I forget how regular girls can tell each other these things, that they can compliment a smile or notice how healthy another woman’s skin appears without there being any unpleasant motivation behind it. Of course, it does not harm me to pay compliments to my friends, but I am always very tentative about sharing these things with strangers. Will they not be suspicious, I think, if the praises they receive are strictly pertaining to their physical attributes? Though, in fairness, it is not as if I would be capable of admiring her generosity or her intellect based solely upon a glance.

It relieves me beyond measure when I realise that after running my mouth so brazenly, that the girl has not fled. She smiles and brushes her hair behind her ear, the colour of those threads reminding me of the bark from the tree outside my childhood home. Though, the Bushman's tea is really more of a shrub than a tree because they only grow to be ten metres tall. The Bushman’s tea bark is light grey, becoming darker with age like the shell of a coconut. Its texture is rough and often cracked, allowing the light to bleach the edges and become swallowed by the core. The varying hues of brown, gold and black are entrancing and I often let my fingers trail across those ridges and grooves, inspecting them like lifelines on the palm of someone’s hand. I notice, however, that her hands remain on the cup and she holds it dearly to herself as though her comfort is attached to it as thinly as a wire. She does not offer me a hand, but her introduction is appreciated nevertheless. I am grateful that she is giving me this much after how I have gawked at her and made her feel uneasy with my blathering.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Yuri,” I say with such a breathy voice that there can be no question as to how relieved I am she has not bolted. “I too have moved here recently. You can call me Clear… if you would like.”

It is perfectly acceptable that I question where she has moved from, to carry on the conversation, but I fear I have talked enough for one minute. I sit with the hope that she will just tell me.

[Yuri]

“Your eyes are beautiful.”

Bi-colored eyes widened for a few moments longer than what would be perceived as normal. Her left eye was a mixture of light and dark violet hues while her right was a solid onyx. At certain angles under the sunlight, her left eye would be a shimmering metallic purple while her right eye would appear brown. Strangers who had seen this often thought she had done it on purpose as wearing contact lens in Singapore was a daily norm. They even had the decency to tell her she was better taking them off. So at the age of 13, the girl had taken it upon herself to wear a black pair of contact lens whenever she went out.

So to say she was surprised to hear the words of this lady she had just met, was an understatement. She had not expected anything equivalent to the words that spilled forth from the woman’s lips. Usually Yuri would prefer people avoid mentioning her eyes or hide them behind her black contact lens, but today she had no room to be upset. This was her first time hearing someone, besides her foster parents, tell her forthrightly that she had beautiful eyes.

Was she merely saying so because she was anxious? Or did she want some part of the fame that the ex-model had? Classmates who had avoided her like she had some disease before she gained fame had asked to be her friends. So to say they were ignored, yet it had not been on purpose. Yuri had merely been preoccupied with desperate undead spirits seeking her help. They were delicate beings and had a limited amount of time before they would vanish, though some do reappear days to months after vanishing.

Surfacing from her pull of thoughts, Yuri re-winded the spilled words of the lady in her head. If fame was what she was after… no, that would make no sense after clearly been obliquely told by the lady herself that she was unaware of who she was. The sorcerer decided to give her new-found acquaintance the benefit of the doubt. She had in fact been a model for a few years but decided to keep that little piece of information to herself for now.

A grateful smile spread her lips.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too Clear.” She returns the pleasantry and takes a sip with both her hands still placed on the warm cup.

“Is it alright if I ask where you were originally from?” She asked, thinking it best to keep the conversation flow natural.

If not for her time as a model and learning that if she wanted to have a conversation with someone she should let conversations flow naturally, Yuri would be asking multiple questions in one go. Like, ‘Why move?’ ‘Where’s your family?’ ‘Are you married?’, but she did not want to upset her table mate, now known as Clear.

It would be nice to have someone to meet everywhere now and then, for the thought of growing old with just the spirits hanging wasn't a very pleasant one.