Tea House
In the most unassuming corner of the very assuming Tea House there sat a girl with long brown hair that didn't belong to her. She was sipping her tea and skimming her magazine. Upon finding herself in this interesting situation, and likewise immediately realizing that the body itself was also in a situation of its own she made her way toward the familiar comfort of tea. And she was content to sit at her table sipping the pure, unprocessed, and least caffeinated, tea she was willing to put into someone else's body. And skimming her magazine.
Clad in a cream colored loose fitting silk blouse, a pair of black leggings, and a beige scarf draped around her shoulders the young woman sipped her tea and skimmed her magazine. She was waiting for this to blow over, you see, as she sipped and skimmed.
She hadn't added anything to her tea. The temptation had been present since she'd arrived, but she had boundaries and she was respectful of the body she was in. And she was respectful of the body within that body. She saw people wandering around, some concerned and other embracing this new (though short lived) life. She thought she recognized faces but realized she couldn't put a name to any of them and conversation was mostly out the window at that point as she sipped her tea and skimmed her magazine.
Her eyes were drawn upward occasionally to look around her and see what she could see. Time and experience had taught her to always look around and be aware of her surroundings. It was a safety precaution and also an important element in experiencing one's life. The Tea House had it's own crowd. The hallways were full and curiosity told her to get up and explore. But again, time and experience kept her firmly planted in her seat, right leg crossed over the left and a sandal dangling off the tip of her right foot which swung just slightly as she sipped her tea and skimmed her magazine.
Sometimes when she looked up her eyes landed on the placard of tea options. Add one emotion per cup, she wondered what she would pick otherwise. If she would pick. Would she pick? Happiness? It wouldn't be real, but what she wouldn't give to feel it. Sadness? She had that without the tea. Forgiveness? She had that in spades. Loathing? Perhaps it would do her some good. Love? Never again. Hate? Never again. Desire? She was trying to keep it smashed, smashed, smashed down inside of her packed tightly amongst other emotions she didn't feel right having.
It was only fanciful whimsy as she thought it over. The strange new ingredients weren't options for her in her current state. So she sipped her tea and skimmed her magazine.