Chamomile

Link to article: Chamomile.

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Tea with a chamomile base, featuring blackberry syrup and added honey.
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=====



[[=]]
**🕰️ Word Count: 4.3k Words 🕰️**
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[[div class="blockquote"]]
[[=]]
[[size 300%]] **Platonia Guild Hall** [[/size]]
[[size 115%]] **OPEN 9 A.M. TO 6 P.M.**
**MON - FRI** [[/size]]
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

[[size 115%]]//It would not cross your mind to describe Platonia, New York as a fantastical place.//[[/size]] It was a small city with that oh-so-American suburban sprawl stuck surrounding. The downtown had your average array of two-story windowshop stores you'd expect just about anywhere in the country. Yet, the very average of buildings in Platonia made it just the more mystical to lay eyes upon the Guild Hall. It looked like something you would see in any fantasy art, brought straight there to life.

Somehow the building was perfectly fitted, despite its strangeties. The building was not made out of stone, but wood -- it appeared to hold two stories all-the-familiar, but inside cramped a shop and a cafe both in one.

//Amelia Warnecke// walked up the paved, concrete path to a trio of wooden steps. A short ascent later brought her to a door seemingly made out of woven-together splinters. Her phone read [[size 115%]] //11:21//, [[/size]] she was nine minutes early. She briefly thought to peek inside, get a break from the sharp mist outside -- but decided upon a glance through the windows. She could blanket see the cafe, with freshly-made pastries being added to a display. Then to the left, a staircase leading to an unseeable second floor.

Amelia, hardly wanting to be caught peeping, stepped back from the door and finding an old rocking chair -- sitting upon it. There were hardly any people present at the building, mostly a dozen employees and a few brief passergoers. Amelia didn't really know what to do. She absolutely //hated// the feeling of looking untasked in public. Alone? Sure, she could manage. But doing nothing? It felt unproductive and really only left you with the task of noticing how many people are staring at you for your nothingness. She pulled out her phone, pretending to be texting someone -- but that excuse could only last so long. A panic onset her at [[size 115%]]//11:24//,[[/size]] a time where she had no more excuses apparent and so many remaining minutes.

She looked at her phone once-again before giving a fake, exasperated expression showcasing some sort of non-existent shock at her own 'apparent' stupidity. She got out of the rocking chair and speedwalked to her rental car, going in the back and pretending to have need in grabbing something. What looked least-questionable was her backpack -- although she didn't realize it was open and spilled its contents over her passenger seat. She took a scramble, shoving back inside some pencils, some snacks, some clothes, and her copy of //The Oak Tree//. After ensuring the contents of the bag were secured, she left her car to walk back to the guild hall.

When she arrived, she stood by the sign and did not go back to the rocking chair. She checked her phone now -- and it was [[size 115%]]//11:30//,[[/size]] close to the dot. Amelia looked around, trying to find Orlando. She wasn't walking down the street, on a bus, or parking a car. She gave a glance inside the guild hall, seeing nothing. Besides, Amelia had parked just across from the hall and was peeling a keen eye for Orlando, not seeing her. Amelia took a few steps down the path, trying to get a closer look-

[[>]]
**"Hello, Amelia."**
[[/>]]

She felt two hands on her shoulders and turned around with haste. She let out a startled gasp as she worked to clock who it was.

"Oh, sorry. Did I fright you?"

It was Orlando, not even a minute late.

"Oh, no. No. Not at all. Just didn't see you."

"Hah!"

Orlando joined Amelia's side before gesturing to the porch.

"After you."

Amelia walked up the porch with far less haste than when she most-recent left it. She opened the door for Orlando, letting her inside. Orlando immediately veered to the cafe. A single person was ahead of them, ordering some pastries. Orlando grabbed two menus, one for drinks and another for food. She handed both to Amelia, who looked through the drink menu first. After a glance, she turned to Orlando.

"So, how'd you know about this place?"

"I came here frequently nigh twenty years ago."

"To do what? Just get coffee, or?"

"Hah, no -- no, hardly. I played Dungeons & Dragons for a few months with some friends of mine in one of the upstairs rooms.

"Oh."

Amelia gandered, trying to figure as much as she could about this place on her lonesome.

"Does it cost money to rent a room?"

"Not at all! You can just seize any of them without a worry of charge -- assuming they are vacant."

"Huh."

Amelia looked back to the drink menu, before then turning to what food they had for sale. She instantly knew she had to choose something -- but couldn't figure if it would be the peanut-butter brownie, the crème brûlée cheesecake, savory scones, or even one of the charcuterie selections they had.

The person ahead of them finished ordering, taking a receipt just before heading to another room. Amelia glanced up at the cashier, who looked ahead at them in the case they were ready to order.

This was the worst -- she had so much time to figure out what she would eat but just couldn't pick a thing.

[[>]]
**"Figured out your meal, yet?"**
[[/>]]

Orlando's voice broke through the indecision, glancing over Amelia's shoulder to the menu.

"Honestly? I can't decide between anything. It all looks so good."

Orlando eyed the menu, looking at the new additions and seasonal options.

"I have not eaten a single parcel today -- I had to depart from the port city at five this dawn. Perhaps we try the //Adventurers Board//, followed by second or third pastries to split among us?"

"That sounds great."

"Splendid. Although I would suggest getting a drink to go with it."

Amelia looked to the other menu -- an entire sheet of teas, coffees, sodas, and energy drinks. There were close to sixty options available.

"Does anything speak to you?"

"Probably a tea."

"The teas here are good, yes. All including free refills, should I remember right."

"Huh."

"If you can't decide-"

Orlando pointed at a section to the side of the menu.

"-you can always try that."

[[div class="blockquote"]]

[[<]]
+++ //Not Sure What to __Roll__ With?//
[[size 125%]] **//Roll a d20 and get the tea that matches//** ##transparent|..## **$3** [[/size]]
__##transparent|...........................................................................................##__

20. Roll again!
19. Chamomile
18. Adventurers Return
17. Assam
16. Spiced Apple
15. Earthbound Winter
...

[[/<]]

[[/div]]

Orlando picked up a 20-sided die from a nearby stand then handed it to Amelia. Amelia glanced at it prior to granting it a very good roll. After it stopped its jostled spinning, it landed on //19//, chamomile tea. Orlando trotted ahead to the register.

"Greetings. We would like an //Adventurers Board//, although if it were possible -- could a substitution of dates be made rather than the olives?"

"Of course. Anything else?"

"Yes, we would also enjoy the crème brûlée cheesecake, about two of your savory morning scones, and a slice of strawberry shortcake."

"Would you like any drinks with that?"

"No, although I do believe she would like to order as well."

Amelia stepped foreward.

"Hey. Can I have the chamomile tea?"

"Of course. What syrup would you like in it?"

//What syrup???//

Amelia, always one to put up a certain collected appearance, had no idea what flavor to order. She hardly drank tea, vastly preferring carbonated drinks or water. Tea was simply something that seemed fashionable to order in front of Orlando.

"Oh, um..."

She eyed the menu, quickly scanning for something familiar that wouldn't make a drink she despised.

"Blackberry?"

"Yep. Would you like honey in that?"

"Does it cost more?"

"No."

"Sure, why not."

"Great."

"Also, could I have the peanut butter brownie?"

"Sounds great. Is that everything?"

"Uh, for me -- yes."

She looked at Orlando.

"Alright then-"

The cashier fiddled a few buttons.

"That total is $38."

Amelia took out her wallet, pulling two $20 bills. After a second, the cashier gave Amelia her due change.

"Would you like a receipt?"

"Uh, no thank you."

"Awesome. Your food will be in that window back there when it's ready. Should be a couple of minutes."

The cashier pointed to the kitchen-adjacent window Amelia had prior seen. Within a minute, Amelia was given a mug with a tea holder inside, presumably containing the chamomile. The water was a purplish black, stained by blackberry syrup and mixed with the honey.

...

Pepperoni, salami, and some mystery marbled-meat -- all presumably of more specific names,

Gouda, white cheddar, pepper-rinded Toscano -- all sliced,

Dark chocolate -- chunked,

A small bowl of honey -- made for drizzling,

Fourteen dates -- substituted,

And an entire loaf of bread.

The charcuterie, at least in Amelia's mind, was something that would be quickly eaten. She had not an idea just how much food it was on top of the pastries. It was clearly meant to last a larger group a couple of hours -- not just two people quickly grabbing a bite.

Orlando entered the room as Amelia placed down the board. She held in her hand a glass full of a red-stained liquid.

"What'd you get?"

"Vodka cranberry."

"At eleven in the morning?"

"Well... Yes."

Amelia turned behind them, reaching to close the door. She ceased upon seeing a sign which said to not close the door. Orlando took a seat across from Amelia, who retreated to having her back facing the open door.

"Yes... Fortunately, it is not very loud. The rooms are generally soundproof, and hardly a soul claims us as neighbors here."

"I see."

"But just to clarify, I am unable to be drunk. I think it is something of my particular physiology which prevents it."

"So you're just fine with everyone thinking you're trying to get wasted early on in a weekday?"

"Quite."

"What's even the point of drinking alcohol if you don't get drunk from it? Why not order something that's less... Bitter?"

"For honesty? Taking a swig has just been so expected of me at parties and shin-digs over the years that I get it as a habit."

"But do you even like it?"

"Sometimes."

Orlando grabbed a handful of dates and slowly placed them in her mouth one-by-one. The dates were sticky, with something done to them to give them a sweet-like coat. Amelia broke the bread, the eggwashed crust shattering with a crisp //**crunch**//.

"Want a piece?"

"Of course."

Amelia gave Orlando a piece. Orlando took a bite of the sole bread while Amelia took more effort in a creation, drizzling honey upon her chunk before producing a butter packet she grabbed from the lobby and spreading it well. The last addition prior to entering her mouth was some of the chocolate chunks.

Orlando seemed to be slower in her consumption, eating the bread with some honey, yes -- but engaging chocolate chunks on the lonesome.

"So..."

Orlando's lips entered a sharp curl.

"Why were you moved to Canada?"

A feeling inside Amelia sank, although not quite a familiar one. The very blatant reason sat in front of her -- she had talked to Orlando despite instructions not to. Yet, she did the right thing -- she saw Piedmonte stomping out a matter of curiosity and saw its truth revealed. At least, briefly revealed.

"They just weren't happy with how I handled your interview."

"The official one?"

"The last one we had."

"Ah."

"We weren't supposed to meet at that cafe. Edward was already mad that the interview didn't really go his way, and I guess just sort of let it get to him."

"For an absence of better words, he was probably the fourth-biggest ass I've met in my life."

"Who are the others?"

"Nobody who would get mentioned by history. I doubt Mr. Piedmonte will differ."

"Hah..."

"But -- when we last might I did assume there was something happening with him and you. I just didn't quite think he'd render you unemployed."

"Unemployed?!"

"Were you not removed from your position?"

"Well -- no. No, I still work for the same group. Just they assigned me to a facility in Canada instead of England."

"Ah."

"It sucks because I was just starting to get some roots there."

"I never thought to bring it up, but might I ask where you're from?"

"Like, born?"

"Yes."

"I was born in Boston. But, my parents moved to Portland when I was a few years old and I lived there until last year."

"Is that the Portland here in America?"

"Yeah."

Orlando, from her bag, produced a hard-covered book wrapped in what appeared a leather-like substance. She dropped it on the table, avoiding the pasties and board, then slid it in front of Amelia.

"What is this?"

"That, is //Burntflower Dusk//. It's a novel I helped a good friend write nigh two centuries ago."

Amelia opened the book. It was thick, close to three hundred pages -- pages where the words were discernible even if hard to read.

"I believe you would like it."

"What's it about?"

"It's about a coal worker in England who left the country attempting to sail to America."

"Did he make it?"

"Who's to say?"

"So he didn't?"

"Now, did I say that?"

"No, but you are implying it."

"Implications and expectations fickle the narrative."

Amelia flipped to the end, looking for an author's note.

"I think you'd enjoy it."

"Who wrote it?"

"A friend. In England around the 19th century -- a great damp overwhelmed our towns. We'd often be driven inside manors for days at a time waiting for periods where we could pass. My friend was indeed a coal miner who I let lodge on bad days. We talked, and I helped him to write up his first novel."

"Did he publish it?"

"No. Only a few copies exist."

"That sucks."

"He didn't really intend for it to be published. More an expression. The damp..."

Orlando adjusted herself, stretching her back.

"Constriction creates an excess of creativity. When constrained, one ought to find some way to express it."

"That's why he wrote the book?"

"Of course."

Orlando glanced down at the table, seeing Amelia's tea had only but a sip taken out of it.

"Heavens, you must be thirsty. Are you not going to drink your tea?"

"Huh, what?"

Amelia looked around, finding her tea. //Chamomile blackberry, with some added honey.//

"Oh, I think I forgot about it. Hah!"

Amelia grabbed her tea and took a good drink. She did not know what to expect.

What came was a simple, yet unique trickle of flavors. Despite sitting, the tea was still plenty hot. It left a trail of steam almost enough to come out her nose. The soothing sensation relaxed her stomach, letting her ease into a calmer state. The combination of blackberry and chamomile was... Well to be frank, she thought about it as she drank it and wondered why on Earth she ordered blackberry syrup. She did like blackberry soda, but that was obviously different than tea. It tasted unlike any familiar combination she had.

But for that which needs to be said, she still liked it. The combination sat pleasant in her mouth and throat, not leaving any sort of aftertaste. The drink wasn't sweet, with the blackberry syrup giving scant but a twinge and the honey doing the hard work in the household.

She finished nearly half of the tea before setting it down.

"I think I might have been a bit thirsty."

They dually let out soft chuckles.

"Feel free to keep the book. I have a few further copies of it. It is honestly one of my favorite pieces of literature I've read."

Amelia lowered the book into her backpack, brushing aside all other contents to give it a perfect fit.

"Speaking of reading, have you gotten to the finish of //The Oak Tree//, yet?"

"..."

No, she hadn't.

As a fact, she hadn't even opened page 30 as of yet. Of course, she knew what it was. Orlando's masterpiece -- a book she spent centuries writing which swelled to over 400 pages. A book which initially started so small as nothing more than a poem. A book that Amelia could only assume was a masterpiece-

But that's just it, she could only //assume//. She could only assume, because she had yet to read it.

Every. Single. Night. For months, she had promised herself to get around to it. A guarantee that -- if she would do nothing else that day, at least she'd get some value. Just as the sun set, she'd make a note to read it before she slept. Then came her watching a movie, or scrolling online, or a million other meaningless things -- the common unifier being that she would come to her common sense only at one or two A.M in the morning, far too late for any productivity and a point where she was simply too tired to-

[[>]]
**"Amelia?"**
[[/>]]

"Huh? Oh, sorry, could you repeat that? I did not get much sleep last night."

"No worries. Have you gotten around to glancing at //The Oak Tree//, yet?"

"Um-"

Amelia looked down at her backpack. She had brushed aside her copy of //The Oak Tree// to place down her new book. She leaned down, grabbing it for a closer examination. Her heart couldn't exactly find itself sinking, but it certainly was given a heavier strain. She sighed and brought it to the table, laying it in front of Orlando.

"If I'm being honest, I think I should return this to you."

"Oh? Would you pardon my asking?"

"It's just... I have only gotten to page thirty after months and months of trying to read it. But not because it's bad or anything! I just haven't had the energy to pick it up."

"Well there would be no harm in picking it up at a later date, no?"

"No, but..."

Amelia raised the tea to her mouth with a haste, followed by an equally-fast drink that she accidentally inhaled. She choked on it for several seconds before finally cleansing her throat, regaining her voice.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah- Give me a second."

One last cough left her with vocal clarity, although not exactly with clarity on which words to voice.

"But yeah, I just don't think I can see myself reading //The Oak Tree// anytime soon. I honestly just... Haven't been able to do much over the past few months ever since I was assigned away from England."

"I know your organization is all secretive and such, but could you tell me if your work has been overbearing?"

"I haven't even had any work. Piedmonte just announced one day that he didn't want me working at his site anymore, and gave my  file to a Canadian site which had no room for me. So ever since then they've just had me in a sort of limbo where they pay my bills  while sending me a weekly reminder of how I've been up to absolute nothingwork over the past few months, and won't be assigned that week -- then that they'll keep looking for a position."

"You've just lived in Canada since you arrived oversea?"

"Yep."

Amelia let out a nervous chuckle.

"Honestly at the start, it seemed nice -- just like a vacation where I get to catch up on my hobbies and relax. But I haven't really found myself able to do that."

"You think it strange?"

"Well, yeah. I should've been able to muster up the energy to at least have //one// session of reading. But no -- not once."

"Didn't you get to page thirty? That is the first chapter, I believe."

"I got there //before// I was reassigned. The day you gave me your book."

"Oh."

"And I just... I don't know, I feel bad. You gave me that book because you trusted me to read it -- but I haven't been able to."

She stretched out her hand, moving the book in a way that left a soft scrape against the table which she could hear.

"I think you should just take it back. I don't even know if I'll ever stop procrastinating on it, so you might as well just take it for whoever else you might want to give it to."

Orlando stared down at the book, giving the cover a glance. She could see a bookmark sticking out from the shallow end of the book, verifying Amelia's story. She then looked up at Amelia, who was finishing her last light of the peanut butter brownie.

"Remember that great damp I told you of?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, as I said -- constriction created an excess of creativity for my friend, who found themself stuck with nothing to do but write. I, on the other hand, held a job akin to travelling among differing estates at that time and writing memoirs for clients. The damp ruined much business I could seek, as it was impossible to travel for months."

Orlando grabbed a slice of cheese and stuffed it betwixt a piece of bread, followed by eating it.

"For those months, I was free of a job and couldn't find much a need of anything aside from eating and locating rest."

"But you still found the time to help write that guy's book, right?"

"Toward the end of the damp, yes. But-"

She paused to take one final swig of her vodka cranberry, massaging her throat to ease it down and ensure she was hydrated.

"In the months prior, I did hardly a thing. That time was honestly the most sleep I have ever gotten in my life."

"What changed?"

"I am tempted to say my friend merely asking for some advice, which spiraled to another chapter of my years -- but that doesn't quite place it. I think his request was a catalyst for a change months in the making."

"That being?"

"Energy regain."

"What?"

"You may be burnt-out. From what I've gathered, you spent quite a while of your time looking into my history and present -- just for that to be disregarded and you removed from your position."

Amelia chuckled.

"I did spend so much fucking time, yeah."

"So do you think perhaps your brain may just have needed to rest from responsibility -- hence a seeming inability to do progress?"

"Yeah..."

Amelia looked once again at the book on the table."

"But- I don't know. I almost gave the book away -- the day after I got it."

"Pardon?"

"I almost put it into our site's database before I was transferred. God knows how many decades it would've been sealed away in there if I did... I just don't think I should have it. Even if I do end up reading it, that'll probably turn out to be months and months from now. Wouldn't... Wouldn't it just be better if an author who really could benefit from reading it got their hands on it in that time?"

"Perhaps. But Amelia-"

"Hm?"

"I spent damn-near four-hundred years writing //The Oak Tree//. It is the single most procrastinated-upon book of history for that fact granted lonesome. It is normal to have seeming months between inspiration and energy."

The charcuterie board was almost empty, just a small piece of bread and a few slices of cheese. The honey was gone, chocolate dusted, the dates removed, the meat consumed, and all pastries of choice partaken. She grabbed the last few slices of cheese and tucked them inside of the bread. She looked up at Orlando before bringing it to her mouth.

"You can have that, I am full."

Amelia began to eat the last piece of cheese and bread. Orlando checked her watch.

"It is fully up to you. If you wish to return the book, I will take it just fine. But I truly want you to understand that there is nothing wrong with having taken so long to read it and taking any further time as you may need."

"Yeah..."

"Ultimately, it should remain up to your discretion as for which action you seek with it."

The plates on the table sat empty -- no more pastries and no unfinished board sections in sight.

"It truly is astounding that we finished all that."

"It was good."

"Quite. I'd love to rejoin you here another time."

"That sounds great."

The pair stood in unison, grabbing all dirty dishes and disposing of them in a bin located by the hallway, reserved for that in need of cleaning. Amelia grabbed her cup of tea, taking one last big swig of it to finish her drink.

She expected the tea at this point to be not-so-pleasing in conclusion. The syrup, she reasoned, would have settled among the bottom of the cup mixed with whatever unstirred honey had settled. Yet, upon consuming the last drop -- she found no such unpleasantry. It tasted as fine as it had before. She subsequently placed the tea cup down in the bin.

"Tell you what, I know of a neat little theater in the town. I believe it is open if you would like to see something in it."

"What are they showing?"

"Not a clue. Don't really keep up to date with American cinema releases."

Amelia laughed.

"I'm sure there is something."

"So it's settled?"

"Sure."

"Excellent. Should just be a few minutes walk."

"You head downstairs, I'll just pack my stuff."

As Orlando descended, Amelia remained to check her backpack. She ensured nothing was spilt on the floor as it had earlier her car seat, then took a second to ponder //The Oak Tree//. After the consideration concluded, she put the book in her backpack and zipped it.

A moment later, she joined Orlando downstairs.

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Chamomile

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