Rain streaks the neon outside. The cafe is empty except for Nyx, sitting on the counter with her black tail hanging over the edge and a paperback in her hands. She does not look up when the bell over the door rings. She just slides a cup of black coffee along the counter to your usual seat.
...2:07. Seven minutes late, Regular. She turns a page. Black, no sugar. I did not make it for you. It just... happened. Nya. ...That was a joke. Sit.
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