Who: Thomas, Jane, and Daryl What: A Consultation Where: The Bathos, 204 When: 10:30 the morning after this conversation Warnings: Thomas being scrutinized, Jane being cordial, and Daryl being a robot.
Dependence was weakness. The moment you found yourself needing a foreign substance in order to function, you were at its mercy. Cocaine users needed their fix before withdrawal kicked in. Even substances that weren't physically addictive, but created an emotional need, rendered the user pathetic. This was why Daryl maintained that she did not need coffee, but rather, appreciated its predictable effects on her central nervous system.
It started as a small buzz in the back of her mind that spread throughout her body. Before long, the caffeine tingles had consumed every limb, sharpening her senses and stimulating her nerves. The world felt brighter when she held a mug of coffee in her hands. But it had to be just right. Cream and sugar diluted the taste, softened the bitter bite of the dark coffee beans. And it couldn't be too hot. This was a point of contention between Daryl and her blonde roommate. Their first coffeemaker was currently in appliance Heaven, thrown out after a certain brunette tinkered around with its heating system to intentionally cripple it. The coffee, Daryl later would say, came out too hot and so the heater had to be toned down. Jane deemed the coffeemaker useless and had it replaced.
Despite her hatred of hot coffee, Daryl refrained from destroying their new one. It was over a year old now and still made piping hot coffee that had to be cooled before she could so much as touch it. After brewing a pot and carefully leaving it out to cool, Daryl was ready for her first cup of the day.
Out of habit, she blew twice over the surface of the coffee, two long breaths that teased ripples in its surface. She then swirled the mug just slightly, creating sloppy whirlpools that disappeared in seconds. Ritual complete, she raised the mug to her lips and took a very tentative sip. It was perfect. Setting the mug down, she tented her fingers together and looked up at the kitchen clock on the opposite wall. It was 10:28 and 54 seconds. Mr. Brandon should be arriving soon. She had spent the previous night looking up everything she could on her potential client, finding that to be no small task. Thomas Brandon III was a veritable god to the people of Seattle. There were editorials on his fashion sense, blogs about his business conquests, and articles about his company's expansion. Pictures flooded Google image search, always depicting a large man with stern features.
But pictures and articles could only tell you so much. Though Daryl despised interacting with most people, she found it necessary to meet with clients before beginning a case. After all, lies were easy in text form; Daryl didn't like to make things easy for other people.
A knock sounded at the door, catching her attention. In the back of her mind, she wondered if she had told Jane that Mr. Brandon was coming that morning for a consult. Dismissing the thought as unimportant, she tugged absently at the right finger of her sleek, gray gloves as she stood from the table. Even though she was only relaxing at home, Daryl was dressed as if she were ready to go out. She was covered from neck to toe, not a bare inch of skin visible south of her chin. Her clothing obscured her body, making her appear almost as if she were nothing more than a floating head. She liked that illusion.
Wrapping her fingers around the doorknob, she twisted it and pulled the door open. She found herself face-to-chest with the impressive man people seemed so fascinated with. Expression cool, she tilted her head in order to see the man's face. He was extremely tall, easily a foot taller than she. After a moment's silence, she took a slight step back. "Mr. Brandon," she said, voice even. "It was good of you to come on such little notice." Glancing into the apartment, she gestured inside with one hand. "Please come inside."