Vertin set down a glass of water and a tiny demitasse before Sonetto, with a care that made the cup seem smaller than it really was. Sunlight from the suitcase dining hall pooled across the table, gradually warming a pair of neatly folded white gloves at the corner’s edge.
“Espresso… It’s very small.” Sonetto muttered, rather than a sense of wonder, it was more like a mental jot note
“Yes. Well, it is very concentrated. Strong and bitter.” Vertin, folded her hands over the table after seating herself. “Drink water first.”
Not asking questions, Sonetto did as instructed, drinking an appropriate two sips before waiting for the next step. She seemed particularly enamored by the specifics behind this small drink.
“Inhale the aroma, and take small sips.” Vertin did not prepare anything for herself, having learned that it didn’t suit her tastes some time ago. However, she was familiar with the proper method of enjoying the drink as much as possible. “You don’t have to finish it, a sip is perfectly fine if you don’t like it.”
Sonetto nodded. Using both hands, she lifted the little cup. To her surprise it was warm to the touch, much warmer than anticipated. Perhaps Vertin had heated the cup beforehand? She theorized.
A sigh, then a gentle inhalation. A bakery, malty, floral, almost like chocolate but so gentle. A wide open meadow, a garland, shining eyes… Honey wild and manna-dew. Intrigued by this complexity she explored further. Intense, but not overpowering. The heat gradually dissipated over the tongue, acidity, then sweetness, then a hint of bitterness. A fragrance seemed to permeate the entirety of the oral cavity, floating up and leaving a deep impression.
This aroma… it was truly captivating. Like poetry itself.
“La Belle Dame sans Merci” Sonetto suddenly murmured.
“John Keats.” Vertin mused. “Did it meet your expectations?”
“I think… It’s really amazing.” The assistant’s face reddened subtly. “It reminds me of you.”
“…” Vertin suppressed the urge to raise her hand and tip her hat. An instinctive gesture. However, it seemed that Sonetto did not take notice of this sudden change in demeanor, instead, taking a second sip, this time less uncertainly than before.
“The knight wanders a landscape emptied of everything besides memory, longing for love…” Sonetto paused, and set the cup down, thinking for a moment before continuing, “Sharp, but not unkind. As if wanting to say something before disappearing.”
Vertin listened carefully. Her expression relaxed, the moment of fluster left behind. Indeed, Sonetto was gentle, earnest, and direct. Her views of art and the world were no different.
“Perhaps….” Vertin lowered her gaze. “The knight relives the same dream because he is trapped,” a pause. “It’s empty because there’s nothing left to say.”
“But he still remembers her.”
“Remembering is all he can do.” Vertin said, voice quiet. “Pale kings, pale princes. All of them were warnings of simple delusion.”
Sonetto’s fingers brushed against the edge of the cup, the ceramic making a small noise against the table. Sunlight shifted, the cool glow of the sky turned away, casting a long shadow.
It was lonely. So lonely. She stared at Vertin. The Timekeeper. Is that how you feel? This distressed state was difficult to miss, those green eyes clouded with concern.
Vertin, seeing this, took a breath.
“... But beauty doesn’t disappear just because it ends. The knight may be cold, but he knows warmth exists." She smiled warmly. "That still means something doesn’t it?”
At this reassurance, Sonetto’s shoulders seemed to relax slightly.
“Yes…” she paused, eyes wandering.
The two were quiet for a time. For a moment Sonetto seemed to briefly forget why they were sitting together at this table in the first place.
“Timekeeper… Thank you for making me this drink.” she said eventually.
Vertin only dipped her head, and stood to take the cups.
“Let’s try something different tomorrow.”
