Maladicta von Borogravia (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
deshabille) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
caveofsapphires2012-06-05 11:21 pm
deshabille) wrote in caveofsapphires2012-06-05 11:21 pm
smile like you mean it;
WHO: Mal & OPEN.
WHAT: Mal gets Under Pressure up and running, more or less.
WHERE: Under Pressure Cafe, middle ring.
WHEN: Afternoons & evenings of June 5-9 (Tuesday-Saturday).
-
There was very little in life, Mal reflected, her eyes narrowing over the lip of her mug, that was more frustrating and discomfiting than not knowing.
Knowledge was a powerful thing, of course, she'd always known that. Lack of knowledge was a weakness. Knowledge let one know when friends would stay and when they'd go, gave one leverage over one's enemies, and made odd surroundings and odder circumstances understandable. She might have been content to simply live this life, whatever it was meant to be, if she'd had any information to go on. However . . .
Well, she'd looked for days and days. She'd been disciplined. She'd found a map, made the outer ring into a grid as best she could - Polly would have been proud, although Jackrum might have been a touch disappointed in the conventionality of it. She'd inspected every shop - if by 'inspected' one meant 'broken into', which she did - and found them stocked with food with vague labels and no address.
So now she was bored again, and the one obvious outlet for her boredom was the damn cafe she was supposed to be running. Or, oh, excuse her, staffing. It was quite a funny joke. She was meant to live the life she'd been told in a city devoid of life or context. Anselmo's nonsense notwithstanding, she would be forced to rewrite their story no matter what she did, even had she very desperately wanted to conform to it.
The concept of the store was intriguing, if entirely unfamiliar, and it was easy enough to tidy everything up and get it open. Finding supplies wasn't a problem, although she would have to go back to the Cave every once in a while to restock, a prospect she was not much relishing. And there were handy little instructions on how to make a latte, although why anyone would want one she had no idea. Dairy had never been her liquid of choice, really.
She propped the doors open and sat behind the counter with an e-reader and a cup of (black, thank you) coffee, tapping her fingers against the side of the espresso machine. Hopefully someone would come in and entertain her, or she might have to go mad just to make things interesting around here.
WHAT: Mal gets Under Pressure up and running, more or less.
WHERE: Under Pressure Cafe, middle ring.
WHEN: Afternoons & evenings of June 5-9 (Tuesday-Saturday).
-
There was very little in life, Mal reflected, her eyes narrowing over the lip of her mug, that was more frustrating and discomfiting than not knowing.
Knowledge was a powerful thing, of course, she'd always known that. Lack of knowledge was a weakness. Knowledge let one know when friends would stay and when they'd go, gave one leverage over one's enemies, and made odd surroundings and odder circumstances understandable. She might have been content to simply live this life, whatever it was meant to be, if she'd had any information to go on. However . . .
Well, she'd looked for days and days. She'd been disciplined. She'd found a map, made the outer ring into a grid as best she could - Polly would have been proud, although Jackrum might have been a touch disappointed in the conventionality of it. She'd inspected every shop - if by 'inspected' one meant 'broken into', which she did - and found them stocked with food with vague labels and no address.
So now she was bored again, and the one obvious outlet for her boredom was the damn cafe she was supposed to be running. Or, oh, excuse her, staffing. It was quite a funny joke. She was meant to live the life she'd been told in a city devoid of life or context. Anselmo's nonsense notwithstanding, she would be forced to rewrite their story no matter what she did, even had she very desperately wanted to conform to it.
The concept of the store was intriguing, if entirely unfamiliar, and it was easy enough to tidy everything up and get it open. Finding supplies wasn't a problem, although she would have to go back to the Cave every once in a while to restock, a prospect she was not much relishing. And there were handy little instructions on how to make a latte, although why anyone would want one she had no idea. Dairy had never been her liquid of choice, really.
She propped the doors open and sat behind the counter with an e-reader and a cup of (black, thank you) coffee, tapping her fingers against the side of the espresso machine. Hopefully someone would come in and entertain her, or she might have to go mad just to make things interesting around here.