Coffee, just coffee (open)

[nellie rose jean]

While her french was less rusty then it had been when she got to paris, it seemed to be a little messed up still. She looked down at what she had gotten from the cafe. She had ordered a coffee, black, no sugar. What she seemed to have gotten was one of those special drinks that skinny blond girls back home seemed to be fueled on. Sadly that wasn't Nellies style, but she was to embarrassed to say anything so with a disappointed look on her face she sipped the drink. Vanilla, it tasted like vanilla, and milk. Was there even any coffee in this? She tried some of the food, the macaroons were good and she had cheese quiche which tasted good. But the coffee or lack there of, that was disappointing. She sat quietly in a booth, trying to decide weather she should go up again and order a cup of black. But she didn't want to admit that she was wrong. She had been sure that she knew enough of the language to be getting on. Then again this was the first real mistake she made. Maybe she was just being to hard on herself. She was worried about her choice. She loved being on stage, but she was making a huge gamble. Was there a future in this for her? Or was she going to live in a box the rest of her life. Was she going to be in social security her whole life. Well…no matter what happened, she always had paris.

www.polyvore.com/nicks_awake/set?id=44563364 Outfit

[lily astrid hills]

Lily entered the small coffee shop, a bag slung over her shoulder. After a long morning of writing, she needed coffee. Desperatly. She was grateful she knew quite a bit of French, and was studying to learn even more. She had studied it in highschool, and her first 2 years of college in the U.S. College, and highschool. That brought back unwanted memories of her old life, and she hurriedly pushed the thoughts out of her mind. She had to forget that stuff. Remembering pushed her into a fog that she couldn't get out of. She couldn't afford to live like that anymore. She had spent 2 months living in a small apartment, spending her days sitting at the kitchen table, staring off into space. Those days were behind her. Crying was now reserved to nighttime only. She did her best to hide her emotions, but today was one of those days that the dark circles seemed to show no matter what she did, and the hint of sadness in her eyes refused to go away.

Going to the counter, she ordered a cup of coffee and a pastry. Her accent wasn't perfect, but she was able to say the words. Stirring sugar into the coffee, she sat down in a chair by the window, pulling a notebook out of her pocket. She wondered, not for the first time, if she was doing the right thing. Could she make a living writing? She hoped so. She loved it, and her dream was to one day walk into a book store, and find a book on the shelf with her name on it. She began to write in the notebook, nibbling on her pastry, and sipping on her coffee. She didn't really pay much attention to anyone around her, not being a huge socialist. Though she wouldn't be rude if someone did speak to her. She just wasn't the type to go and introduce herself to someone. Not anymore anyway.