Tell me what you find when you read my mind Who: Emma Frost and Delia Summercourt Where: D.C, a small café When: Morning of day 3? What: Delia is just trying to eat her breakfast in peace, but when Emma Frost walks in, it can be assumed that this will not happen. (Ooc note: I wrote this and had it ready, so tell me if you want me to change anything!)
The morning after the mutation expo found Delia sitting at a small café, having breakfast. It had been a relief to get up in the morning and dress as she wanted to herself, instead of the uniform black of the CIA. In celebration of this occasion, she had chosen the shortest skirt she owned and a brightly patterned shirt to go with it. The only effect this attire had had so far though, was to make her exceedingly nervous when she sat down, forcing her to adjust the skirt every five minutes to make sure she wasn't looking indecent. Indecent or not she had attracted the attention of a group of men in suits - bankers? Lord, why couldn't she attract some interesting men for a change? - across the café, who were casting amused glances at her over their coffee cups. It was flattering to have men look at her, she quite enjoyed that part and wasn't at all used to it, but the thrill was decidedly lessened when they were middle aged, balding bankers.
Tugging the skirt down another inch (it rode up again at once, there simply not being enough fabric to cover her legs more than it did), Delia determinedly kept her eyes at the morning paper in front of her. She had skipped the pages about the expo and located the cooking pages instead. There was a recipe for chocolate fondue that had caught her attention. She didn't really have anyone to make such an extravagant dish for, but it could be fun to try it. Wasn't trying new things her mission these days? Taking another sip from her coffee (she had enough milk in it to turn it almost beige), she glanced at her plate. When she arrived from Britain, the possibility of having waffles or pancakes for breakfast had astounded her, then she had embraced it and gained quite a lot of weight. She had then converted to scrambled eggs and toast, which was marginally more interesting than the porridge she had eaten as a child.
The café was a hole-in-the-wall type of establishment, it had looked cosy from the outside, but well inside it was quite crowded with people passing in and out. Delia had to report to the office in an hour, but she had no intention of moving quite yet. Her granny had always insisted on the importance of breakfast, and while the dear old woman might be gone, healthy eating remained a part of her inheritance. There hadn't been any room in her stylish purse for a book, otherwise she would have brought one. For now she had to be content with occasional glances at the people around her and the newspaper in front of her.