Smoke Has It's Own Kind of Eloquence

It's been a long time since my last post, but I've recently been playing with some characters I've had in my head for a while. Just looking for a little feedback.

Bianca rakes her fingers through her short hair so that it stands on end. There is no possible way to make the pieces fit together. The whole thing is a disorganized mishmash of information that doesn’t seem like it all belongs in the same article. Why can’t I just read all day instead of trying to write?

Fingers still twisted in her blonde mop, she turns to look out the window. One of the baristas is outside smoking; the girl who made her latte, the one with the fiercely blue eyes and the sharply angled bob. She tries to recall the last time she had a cigarette and comes up with a few memories blurred by triple sec and tequila and what she had thought, at that time, was love. She follows her impulse out into the night air.

“Hey, um, could I bum one of those off you?”

The girl ‘s head snaps towards the sound of Bee’s voice to see who’s interrupting her cigarette break. She says nothing. Bee looks towards the street, then back at her and tries again.

“You’ve probably seen me here before. I’m here kind of a lot. So when I say ‘bum’ I mean I’ll actually get you back. What do you smoke?”

The girl pulls out the pack of Malibus and holds it open to her.

“Got a light too?” Bee asks. The girl still hasn’t said anything, but she pulls out a lighter and flicks it. Bianca cups her hand around the flame as she lights up.

“Thanks. I’m Bianca. Or, actually, just Bee.”

“Hanna.” her voice is low and a little husky.

Wow, this girl never shuts up, Bee finds herself thinking sardonically. “Not big on conversation?”

Hanna seems to contemplate her question for a moment.  The expression suits her.

“No,” she says, “It’s not that I mind conversation. I just don’t have a lot to say when I’m sober.”

Bee nods. The smoke she exhales into the breeze disappears almost instantly. Across her chest she feels the ripple of tiny muscles contracting just beneath her skin, giving rise to goose bumps, but she’s not entirely sure it’s because of the cold. She follows another impulse.

“Well in that case, when do you get off? I’d love to buy you a drink over at O’Neils.”

Hanna meets her gaze, then visibly sizes her up.  She turns back to the passing cars and replies point-blank, “I’m not into women.”

Smoothly covering her surprise, Bee answers, “Then I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t ask you to have sex with me.”

The flare of Hanna’s nostrils as she exhales is her version of a laugh. She draws deeply on her cigarette once more before grinding it out against the wall of the coffee shop and letting it drop to the ground.

“I get off at ten,” she says with the slightest of smiles. She walks back inside.

Bee takes another drag. Hanna.

The End

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