It was already late in the long summer day when Crowley the Acanthus went to the coffee shop - one of the more boutique ones squeezed into an odd corner with a little, irregular shaped, open space at the back surrounded by potted plants and ferns. The day was finally cooling and he could feel the accumulated heat rise out of the slabs. The plants that gave an excellent sense of privacy barely moved in the tepid, languid, breeze. The day had been hot and draining; slowly it dragged itself toward nightfall on exhausted limbs.
Humanity felt the drain as well. The coffee shop was all but empty - something which only served to grant the rocker an enigmatic smile as he sent out his texts.
Temoins du Sud needed a space to chat. He had made a decision and it had been without the proper consultations. Lack of time, coupled with spur of the moment thinking. The meeting, he hoped, would smooth over some of the ruffled feathers and give the rest of the crew an opportunity to take stock of the new prospect.
He leaned back in his wicker chair, fingers steepled, manic gleam in his eye and a short black set before him.
The Doorwarden waited for the other Southern Witnesses to arrive.
Truce Vassagon Cabochard Einstein Renen Valkyrie