Post by Erica Vivian Ingles-Lloyd on Aug 25, 2020 2:06:46 GMT
One of the things that weren't really secrets, but were just facts that Erica chose not to divulge, was that she depended on coffee in the mornings like a mortal. Every day, 9 AM sharp, she drank her first sip of latte. The witch cafe in the VO District from which she ordered knew her now-- well, they've always known her, the baristas who work there study under her at the coven's academy-- and they take care to start her drink (medium size, two espresso shots, with steamed oat milk) at 8:56, since it takes exactly three minutes to make it if you do it right. Not that Erica can taste tardiness, but once Erica set a schedule, people were drawn to follow it. The threat of or else was left implied, unspoken, but understood immediately without a need to enforce it.
Erica liked the idea that she was intimidating. Did she mean to be? Honestly, yes. It meant that things got done, her way. Her tendency to be sharp and direct was thus not borne from some sadistic streak, a desire to see people writhe and suffer, but from a simple need to be functional. Just get it done. Period.
At 8:59 the deputy headmistress would sweep into the cafe, money in hand, and swipe the cup with her name on it, waiting atop the espresso machine. She always paid in cash, because she liked to leave a big tip; Erica was not heartless, thank you very much. She recognized hard work and fairly rewarded those who performed it.
Though, furthermore, she was not without diligence. Erica did not accept mistakes, and if one was made, well, fix it. Before she left she would stride over to the counter opposite the espresso bar on the other side of the store, and would take two napkins in one hand, while taking her first sip from the cup she was holding in the other. If the drink tasted fine, like she wanted it to, she would bid her witch girls good-bye, and thank-you, and leave to begin her day. If not... well, fix it.
Once, the cafe was running short on supplies due to a mis-scheduled delivery and they'd run out of oat milk. Erica had only found out because one of the baristas was talking about it while her back was turned to get the napkins; but her latte had tasted fine. It was only after she left the store, and sat down to work and lifted the lid of the cup to look at its contents, did she see feel the slightly magical glow emanating from the liquid. A taste-changing spell, and one that had been executed perfectly. She couldn't even detect a difference. Erica had smiled to herself, then had left a tip twice as large the next day for whoever came up with that clever trick. Now, she didn't bother checking, but the baristas didn't need to know that.
There were, in reality, a lot of things that Erica only gave the impression of caring about.
The coffee routine was not one of these matters. Most witches opted to use a wake-up spell to arouse themselves for the day, but it felt cheap to Erica to use magic to create biological change. Magic was not something that should be abused, used to make people lazy, and that was a strict principle within the coven. Everyone had chores, and don't even think about using magic. No, it was hard manual labor that kept the house clean.
The coffee today tasted fine. Erica sipped it as she chose a seat outside of the cafe, one without an umbrella. She preferred to be a good Samaritan and leave the umbrella-laden tables for those who couldn't afford to ward off the heat otherwise. The sun bore down on her but she pulled out her pocket spellbook and muttered an incantation; instantly, the temperature around her cooled as if she was sitting in the shade. If you asked, Erica would tell you that fine, there were some enchantments for biological purposes that were useful for protection. For example, if you didn't want to get skin cancer.
Her laptop was open, magical aura pulsing from it as well as the privacy spell she'd cast around it still lingering. There was work to be done today, but she didn't need to be at the school until in the afternoon to teach her classes. The hustle of the bustle of the District became background noise as she zoned in, but soon a clatter near her disrupted her from her work coma. Looking up, Erica narrowed her blue eyes at the intruder, lifting an eyebrow. "Can I help you?"
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