Sephiroth catches a glimpse of the girl on the terrace, the one with the long hair who doesn’t look like she’s looking for anyone in particular. Absent-mindedly, he finds himself appreciating the sight of her - she seems to be enjoying her own company, smiling to herself about something over her plate of cookies, leaving it in the middle of the table to clearly signify that nobody else is invited. Solitude isn’t something young girls seem to find appreciable nowadays - and it warms him, vaguely, to see this one looking so engrossed in her own thoughts as she licks cookie crumbs from her lips.
He sighs imperceptibly over the abysmally written mission report he’s reading, picking up his cup of single-sugar espresso and blowing on it. In the corner of his eye he sees her, that white face turning to look at him, and there’s the slightest of tensions creeping into his shoulders as he acknowledges that gaze. Did she catch him looking at her in the same way? He represses the urge to grin as he wonders at how absurd he’s being, thinking about a girl when he’s still got 10 of these rags to wade through. Then again, he does have his afternoon off, and he can feel that impulsive stage of boredom beginning to take over his concentration.
All right, he tells himself. If she orders something interesting - I’ll ask to join her table.
The choice of drink can reveal a great deal about a person. Sephiroth steals another glance at her through his veil of white hair, trying to gauge what kind of person she might be. If she takes coffee, black, or with sugar - uninteresting. If she takes something choked in cream - even worse.
She doesn’t seem to be an alcohol amateur - though perhaps sweet cocktails might be an exception, something with fruit. He doesn’t see her ordering alcohol in the middle of the afternoon, though, with that sweet face and petulant, childish eyes - that would be more Genesis’ type. Juice, then? But not something too common, like apple or orange or strawberry. And not something too over-the-top exotic either, like kiwi or mango. No, she’d be something a little more uncommon, but still familiar - homey, even. Like… the apricot kind.
If she orders an apricot juice, Sephiroth mentally specifies, I’ll join her table.
A waiter walks up to her, looms over her in his formal attire and she gives him a brilliant smile.
"Espresso, please. One sugar."
A slow smile stretches Sephiroth’s mouth without him realizing, and he goes back to his report, finger tracing the rim of his own identical beverage.
Well. Not such a good judge of character after all.
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