Coffee

She’s usually wrapped up in a coat, wears black jeans underneath and joggers, keeping her work shoes in her backpack as she scuttles around the city with her keep-cup in hand, warmed by her morning coffee and itching to press it to her mouth. She has curls that bounce with her strikes, dark brown when wet and then with glorious caramel tones in the sun when dry. Her skin is a bit darker, but just as creamy, although it’s often covered by long-sleeved shirts, coats, scarves, jeans, tights and shoes. She rubs her lips together a lot, as if she has leftover cream on them, and often looks in three different directions in a pattern, even when you’re talking to her. Though she seems easily distracted, she’s always tuned in and will sip her morning coffee and make eye contact with you before repeating what you had ben saying after you accused her of not listening. She has a grin that looks a little like a smirk but the crinkles around her copper eyes speaks to her amusement and kindness.

Iced Coffee

As she walks around the house you can hear the clinking of her glass, or her running through her daily report. Clink clink clink. She’s standing at her desk, glass in hand slick with condensation that she wipes across her forehead, trying to help abate some of the heat pouring in through the window. She’s staring down at the paperwork on her desk, shuffling through it as she tries to catch the metal straw with her tongue without looking. Some of the droplets spill onto her paper and she clicks her tongue and holds it away from the desk, leaning down against it. She scratches the back of her leg with the other foot and adjusts the overalls she’s wearing, wondering if she’ll get a singlet tan or if it’ll blend into her shirt tan. She runs a hand through her short, dark brown hair, slicking it back a little with more chilled water from the sides of the glass. Her eyes are faraway as she looks over the sheets, glassy as she waits for inspiration to strike her, no longer reading anything written down or looking closely at anything drawn. Beads of sweat are starting to roll down her, just like the water rolling down her glass and hands.

Tea

She’s sitting in her desk chair, leaning back with one foot tucked under the other leg because her feet are cold. Her eyes are bright, lit up by the light of the screens and the glimmer of her glasses as she looks through her work, her mug of hot tea pulled close to her mouth as if inhaling the steam would make her warmer inside. Every now and then she goes to sip but stops, clicks and types a little and then resumes just holding the tea, keeping her hand warm. She has olive skin and eyes sitting in between light and dark brown, looking almost amber in the sunlight. Curls of black frame her face, warming her as if it was a beanie. She blows gently on the steam, all of her movements soft and slow as if she were waking up. She’s content and comfortable, thumbing the tag of the tea bag.

Iced Tea

Leaning with her back against the kitchen counter, she sips at her iced tea, filled giddy with the flavours of fresh citrus, a chill running down her throat and into her stomach. Her skin is olive, her legs long and red-hair sits on her head, pulled and brushed back into a bun to keep most off it off her sweating neck. She has peppermint eyes, framed well by her strong features, high cheekbones that make her face a little taut but they cannot compare with that gleam in her smile and eyes as her head fills with thoughts of her projects. She bends and flexes her legs, absent-mindedly stretching and moving as she continues to sip, humming with the delight of the drink. She slips her phone from her pocket, checking the time to make sure she isn’t dawdling too much upstairs. She came up for a break but will need to go back down and continue working soon. Some of her fingers are a little sore from either being burnt, nipped or smacked. Though she’s tall and can be agile, she’s often clumsy with the smaller things, her crafts being one of them. But she still thinks about the sundress she’s making downstairs, the one made of pastel yellow and oranges.

Cocktail

Her hair was a peach colour, like a strawberry blonde almost. Her hair was straightened and combed into a high-pony, cascading down her back, a neat fringe and milky skin. She was tall and she was plump, curvy enough that you couldn’t quite tell if she was just a little overweight or if it was muscle. She wore a dress of sunset pastels that clung to her top curves before stretching out in accordian skirt. Gold sunglasses sat atop her head and she carried a mocha handbag at her side. Her eyes were a deep brown, making her face almost seem a little paler. Her mouth was painted in apricot, her smile warm and refreshing at the same time. She walked with her full height, and then some with her heels, her head up high, her face joyous and not a moment of faltered confidence. But there was not a sign of cockiness, only sweetness.