Of Lorenz Theory & Love

Coven Coffee, Paris

2 Coven Coffee, Paris

All Charmed characters are Charmed CW's. I read about Coven Coffee in Paris and decided to incorporate a bit of real-world in this story.

10 PM PST, 6 am GMT, 8 am France

Music: Matthew Dear "Bad Ones" (feat. Tegan and Sara)

Macy, unable to sleep, donned a navy dress, a khaki trenchcoat, and sensible ballet flats and ventured to the Command Center, to be of some use there. Upon entering, the map sensor showed Paris, France as a source of activity. Having clicked, obtained the telltale marble, and landed, she quickly vanquished a screeching, cursing 300-year-old La Madame Blanche (French female ghost) in the Cité Internationale Universitaire de Paris (CIUP) girl's wing of the stately Sorbonne University and had plenty of time to spare.

Enough time to breathe. Enough time to seek a modicum of something resembling normalcy and think about the conversation she inadvertently overheard in her dream; she'd heard something about Harry numbing his feelings toward her, and she had lived long enough to know that these dreams were steeped in magic reality, for better or for worse.

She consulted her iPhone and muttered coffee, hoping that Siri (French: Mademoiselle Siri?) would steer her in the right direction. Turning two corners past the Seine River, and a swerve past the Quai du Louvre street post, she made another right near a marble statue of St. Genevieve and came face-to-face with Coven Coffee.

Macy, too immersed in her own thoughts to question anything, pushed the shop door open, as the overhead chime rang, and she heard the beginning lyrics of Tegan and Sara's "Bad Ones." She found a brochure, which explained the coffee shop's intersectional, ethically-minded, feminist bookselling principles. According to the writing, "Intersectionality points out the various systems of power that affect those who are the most marginalized or discriminated against in society. ... if they are the only people at the table then you should be suspicious. Our books will cover gender, race, class, ableism and sexuality - and include children's and teen's titles." Not to mention, Coven Coffee specialized in English-language literature in particular. Macy nodded in silent approval. This was her kind of place.

Having ordered a Noisette (French espresso with a dash of cream), she chose her seat toward the back of the coffee shop. She took her tiny 1x2 inch nondescript notepad from her trench coat pocket (and tiny ballpoint pen) and began to make a list about Harry.

Harry: Pros | Harry: Cons

She bit her lip and continued.

Pros: handsome, (very, very) sexy, the perfect British gentleman, makes the best Earl Grey tea, great at kissing sex lovemaking humping along an armoire making her toes curl physical intimacy overall, slow-dancing, kind, gentle, excellent whitelighter abilities...an attractive human specimen generally, with a certain air of innocence (and impromptu elegance, she supposed, after their dance)

Cons: hates his feelings, is post-octogenarian yet needs to grow up a bit (typical man), too scared of true love whatever the hell this is

Macy checked her watch. It was almost midnight in Seattle. She sighed. She had to leave Coven soon. She remembered (was it really a morning or two ago?) how she had woken up in her bedroom, her pillows and sheets askew unlike anything before, and tracing the back of her sleeping paramour gently with her finger, in the shape of infinity. Multiple infinities, in fact.

She'd arisen from bed just then, to move closer to the mirror to see her reflection—how much of a hot mess was her hair after last night? Only to whirl around and find Harry staring at her shapely silhouette from the bed, then him rapidly orbing to recreate the night before, inches from her—his eyes meeting hers, his surprisingly muscular arm intertwined with her sinewy limb, a stroke of her tight curls and his breath on her swan-like neck and an involuntary moan from her, his hand slapping her bosom then reaching for her nipple, his exploratory tongue meeting her wanting tongue, everything aligned just so (her toes involuntarily curled at the vivid memory), which of course was interrupted unceremoniously by well-intentioned Mel and Maggie. Somehow, Macy had the sense orbing wasn't intended by the Elders for sexy whitelighter purposes, but she certainly wasn't complaining...she smiled slightly to herself.

Macy rose from her seat, disposed of her empty (and 100% biodegradable) coffee cup, departed Coven, blinking into the bright-yet silvery gray skies ubiquitous of a Parisian morning, and retraced her route past the marble St. Genevieve, the Quai du Louvre street post, and the Seine. Ducking into a dark side alley, she retrieved her marble and portaled back into the darkened Command Center.

She leapt back into the familiar switchboard room; the map flashed overhead, with its telltale blips and chimes of magical activity. Lonely as most anyone might be at such fantastical wanderings, Macy had been raised an only child and found bliss in occasional moments of solitude such as these. She followed her path back to Vera Manor, and opened the front door quietly, much like her younger wild child self (box braids and all) sneaking home after a long night out at clubs (much to her father's chagrin).

The entire living room area was pitch black—it looked as if the fire had gone out, and no one was awake. Or so she thought. On a whim, she decided to walk to the kitchen to check on her ivy plants and nearly leapt out of her skin.

"Where were you?" Harry exclaimed. "It's nearly midnight, and your sisters and I have been waiting for hours."

"Out," said Macy archly, "pour engourdir mes sentiments avec du café. Or en anglais, "numb my feelings.""

Harry suddenly looked uncomfortable as Macy turned and hurried upstairs without another word.

"What is it?" Maggie asked sleepily, having woken up from napping on the sofa.

"I think she heard us."