Customers day in and day out were a commonplace feature amongst the throng of people populating the city. Yet how unusual did it seem each time people filtered through, bustling bodies unawares of the tragedy and horrific sights that surrounded them. And how rarely oft did they get individuals of foreign rapport to sit in their café. But she does her job all the same, the usual guise put on for the folks who dwelled in a realm of some normality.
The garish femme regards a petite girl of flaxen tresses and bright, lapis irises – voice slightly perkier than usual for the sake of customers,
❝Can I get you anything? Coffee. Tea. Maybe a pastry.❞