"Friendship ... is born at the moment when one man says to another "What! You too? I thought that no one but myself . . ." ― C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves
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Warm roasted coffee beans and the overwhelming scent of vanilla imported from Madagascar invades Elizabeth's nostrils as she opens the door to the Wildflower Cafe, welcomed with the tiny tinkle of its silver bell. Familiar scents, she thinks to herself, homely aromas. Just what she needed after the tough morning hours endured at her dreary desk.
Easily, Elizabeth finds a seat with the perfect setting: a nice stream of early autumn sunlight; great views of the busy London streets; and, of course, a small table that was far away from the larger group tables. Quietness, calmness, was what she sought, after all. Not the rabble and chatter of London's severely burned out university students or regular out-of-control secondary school flakers. No, Elizabeth only came to this cafe to seek tranquility, familiarity. Nothing else other than peace.
"So, who's the newbie?"
Until she had spoken, Elizabeth hadn't entirely noticed the waitress who had glided up to her table. Petite, blonde and extremely soft-spoken, Elaine was an easy one to miss in the ambiance of the cafe. With her white apron, small stature and gentle ways, crowds easily swallowed her up. It didn't help that she was always flitting from place to place either, trying to make sure that everything was covered and running smoothly and seamlessly - the burden of being the owner of a local business.
Nevertheless, Elizabeth didn't really get surprised when Elaine appeared from thin air. Instead, she only regarded her with wide eyes, caught off guard but well-used to her teleportation act. They had been friends for a good chunk of each other's childhoods.
"This is Mael, a new recruit," Elizabeth answers Elaine's question, not betraying anything as she picked up a menu and skimmed through the options. As if she didn't already know it by heart. Not paying Mael much mind, Elizabeth nods toward Elaine, "Mael, this is Elaine. She owns this place."
"Nice to meet you Elaine," Mael nods toward her, looking a little out of his comfort zone. Although, Elizabeth was puzzled as to why someone like him would be uncomfortable in a place such as this.
Tucked away on a street that only true locals or London natives knew, the Wildflower Cafe was a place of cosiness and comfort. When Elaine had first established this place, bought out the derelict and decaying boutique it had once been, she made it clear that the Cafe was a safe-haven, a quiet, peaceful place, for everyone and anyone who came in. As a result, it became a vital part of the community around here. A vital hot spot - a bloodline. Everyone and anyone knew about the Wildflower Cafe - especially the workers at the Britannia Mail, Elaine giving them discounts on coffee and cakes.
Many times during the week, Elaine would have a full house, filled to the brim with students cramming for exams or freelance writers furiously typing away at last minute deadlines. Between them were the casual regulars, having a quick chat with people they knew or picking up their usual coffee run. Then, of course, there were the Elizabeths of London: quiet, bright-eyed writers who used the Wildflower Cafe as their peaceful thinking place, imagining realms and stories much different from the slow crawl of urban life.
At least, that's what she used to do. Now she's worn out, dull-eyed. The paper hasn't given her a good scoop for a while and with the increasing censorship from the government, finding interesting, thrill-seeking stories has been a rare occurrence.
Only when remembering this, the various people who flocked about the Cafe, would Elizabeth remember that Mael was new to all this. He didn't get the ins and outs of working for a company like hers. He didn't know anything about the average routine of a Britannia Mail worker. Even if he was somehow related to Ludociel. Even if he seemed privileged, handpicked for this position, he knew nothing about it. Now, like a newborn lamb, he was tied to the hip of the department's 'best', someone who had several pictures hung on that tacky 'reporter of the month' wall. Pictures that honestly didn't do her much justice. That had to be daunting. That had to be nerve-wracking. If Mael was her, Elizabeth would be pissing her pants out of anxiety.
"There's no need to be so nervous here, you know," Elaine giggles, a kind smile stretching across her face. Her warm brown eyes glimmer. "This cafe's a place to just relax and let your hair down in. No-one's here to judge you."
"Is it that obvious?" Mael asks, scratching at the back of his head. Judging from the jacket that he still had on, the man was suffering a giant social awkwardness panic. A usual symptom of a someone being thrust into a new social scene.
"Kinda," Elaine nodded, humming. Soon she laughs once more, brown eyes crinkling, "But you aren't as bad as Elizabeth here. Did you know that when we first met, she dropped her entire lunch tray on my brother's head?"
"Elaine," Heat burns Elizabeth's cheeks as she sends a small and subtle glare to her friend. Outsiders weren't meant to know about her clumsy and ungraceful ways! Especially people who had just entered her workplace!
"Did that really happen?" Mael ignores Elizabeth's reddened face, raising a curious brow at his new co-worker.
Innocence, a pure mask of awe and wonder that Elizabeth had once worn herself was all she could see on her face. Like all new members to the Britannia Mail family, Mael was still disillusioned by the dream, the flashing camera lights and double-page articles. Usually, Elizabeth would try to warn them, try to let them down slowly about reality. But today she feels differently, shoves down her inner pessimist in exchange for a more guarded Elizabeth.
"Unfortunately," Elizabeth sighs, shaking her head to clear away the embarrassment and mortification. Clearing her throat, the woman then put down her menu, smiling sweetly at her friend, "Can you get me two coffees please, Elaine? The Britannia Mail special."
"Of course!" Elaine chirped, jotting the orders down on her notepad. Within a moment she was turning on her heel, already springing off to wherever she was needed next. "I'll be back in a second. And since it's Mael's first time here, consider it on the house!"
Shaking her head, Elizabeth only watches as Elaine skips away, heading toward a table that was now occupied by a builder, his high-vis vest covered in dust and his skin reddened by the autumn winds. Across from her, Mael does the same, clearing his throat.
"So this is what it's really like being a journalist," He says, smoothing shaky hands around a menu. Carefully, his blue eyes glance down at the piece of paper, skimming over cursive fonts and pictures of pretty little cupcakes. "Seems pretty normal."
"Oh you've only dented the surface," Elizabeth murmurs dryly, cracking a somewhat humourous smile. "This is just a Monday."
"Well it beats Mondays in finance," Mael chuckles, appearing more at ease as he leans back in his chair and releases a sigh. "Back in that office, I would have killed to have a place like this down the street."
"You did finance?" Elizabeth blinks, raising a brow. Mael nods, not at all bothered by her questioning. No doubt he was already used to the constant pestering of answer-hungry, reporter brains. She scrunches her nose, "How could you stand all those numbers?"
"After a while they get more bearable," Mael shrugs, nonchalant. A genuine laugh actually leaves him, shaking his shoulders and his head. "But it was never my passion."
"What was your passion?" Elizabeth asks.
Again, silence overwhelms Mael. But this time, unlike all other times she has interacted with him, he appears more hesitant than nervous. Hooded gaze, pursed lips, body language that overall conveyed a sense of apprehension or caution - a trait most journalists lacked these days. Always chasing the next big story, a new scoop to feed the masses, people like Elizabeth didn't have time to dwell on apprehension. They had to act fast; they had to act now.
Mael clearly hasn't gotten that skill yet. Despite that, Elizabeth can still spot a potential within him, a driving force that burns within his gaze, bright and obvious and... inspiring. Something Elizabeth had seen many times before, had felt years ago, but had never felt so inclined to encourage - to experience once more.
Carefully, Elizabeth meets Mael's gaze, urging him to continue, to answer her question. When they meet, subtle red creeps up his neck, tickling his ears as he sits up more rigidly.
"Journalism," Mael finally answered, clear and resolute. Redness now marked his cheeks, his voice suddenly a lot more quiet as he confessed, staring right into her own blue-hued eyes. "My passion is journalism. I've always thought that people can have a beautiful way with words."
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