Her editor had taken one look at her; and bluntly pronounced her an inferi.  Bassington hadn't budged from statement, despite her most scorching glare. Overnighters took their toll on her; leaving her mind dulled and her less focused and alert. However, research didn't wait for no witch, and time was the limit. The black sludge at the DP offices was tempting, but her empty pit of a stomach growled; a stifling reminder of the human body's limits.

The reporter kept a spare change of clothes, toothbrush, hair brush and tooth paste, and sequestered herself in the office bathroom, until she battered herself into looking more presentable and feeling more human. Hungry and cranky for caffeine and sustenance, she trudged down to the nearest cafe; Alohomocha.

Patiently, she waited in line, trying to stave off sleep and curbing her crankiness at the other wizards and witches before her in the queue. Cappucino, Mocha or Mochacino, she didn't care what it was unless it had the strongest dose possible. "Please, be quick," she muttered the soft wish under her breath. 

Two reports had come in from the field when he arrived at the Ministry this morning, an ill dragon and a Keeper injury.

Balfour had no desire to peruse them without having had his coffee: so he escaped from the office while leaving Mrs Lanningham to fend the fort, and was now waiting at a cafe that two exceptionally vexing authors had convinced him to frequent. It was one of his better decisions.

So engrossed was the wizard in this morning's copy of the Prophet, that he nearly did not catch the mutterings emanating from a witch stood in line behind him. He glanced over his shoulder wonderingly.

Why, she looked even more deprived of caffeine than he did.

"I'm sorry-" Balfour folded the paper, tucking it under his arm. "- would you like to go on ahead? I'm in no rush." There was only one other person in front of him in the queue  (a young man with mauve hair) and he knew better than to come between people and their coffee.

Nearly as treacherous as coming between a Nundu and her cub.

Once her muttered words had passed her lips, Iris fought back a deep yawn that threatened to be unleashed. Her weary and dull eyes had closed for a minutes, she hoped the state of darkness behind her lids would be enough to stave away her fatigue.

Dropping from the line in a stupor would not only be embarrassing, but she didn't want to become a headline in the evening edition of the Prophet.

At 10 am this morning, a reporter employed by the Prophet collapsed at the Alohomocha cafe shocking bystanders and employees. "Like, she dropped dead, ya know," reported the barista, still fidgeting from stress...

Roused from her mental script, she shook her head, blinking rapidly to interject some energy into her.  A few seconds it took for her slow state to understand the words. What came out of her mouth was dashed embarrassing.  "Wha...coffee?"

Ducking her face in embarrassment , she rubbed the bridge of her nose, "Thanks, sorry." Suffice to say, Iris was not up to being her charming self to the general public.

In general, James was not a fan of diuretics.  His constant monitoring of his food intake generally kept him away from caffeine and other xanthines, but sometimes there was no cure for it.  He needed to keep what little sodium he had.  Though he preferred to only take a little bit of stimulants before a game, circumstances prevented him from doing as he would like.   He was in a queue with the maddening crowd when someone offered to give someone a place ahead in line. 

Taking one look at her, James could see why.  This was the other reason James did not like this particular diuretic.  It had the nasty tendency of causing a physiological addiction to the substance.  While James did not particularly care for recreational potions, he had seen people break away from alcholism, recreational potions use and a myriad of other societal ills.  James had yet to see someone break away from caffeine addiction.  Inwardly, James wondred if he would be helping or hurting her if he suggested that she take a pepper up potion instead.  After a second or two, his pure-blood up-bring won out.

"Alas, where are my manners? You obviously need your fix.  Please step in front of me" James said.  He looked at the other gentleman who had let her pass.  He was dressed in a suit, and looked like he had some official business somewhere.  Not one for small talk, but feeling the need to say something to the man, he decided to go with the flow.

"So...busy morning?" James asked, not really expecting a response but figured it would not matter.  James knew that people tended to be grouchy without their caffeine, so figured the man could opt out of a response if he wasn't feeling sociable.

“…A tomato bacon garlic mayo sandwich, a small chai latte, aaaaand two macadamia cookies,” a perky voice wafted in from the front, as a small, wax paper bag floated over, joining another, distinctly sandwich-shaped one on the counter. Turning around with a drink in hand, Cecily returned to the counter and held it out expectantly. “You’ve got everythi– yeah? Great,” and she gifted the mauve-haired guy with a shiny customer service smile. It brightened all the more at the drop of a tip. “Have a good day. Next!”

Thursday mornings were often busy here, at Alohomocha—well, mornings were, period, regardless of what day it was, but today seemed exceptionally busy today. Cecily, in early for once, had been up since six– which wasn’t to say it was anyone’s, since she had spent that time working on a new piece, because it wasn’t. But her feet was starting to ache, and that always made her want to put them up somewhere, preferably with a Lumo –or a Blizzard, depending on the weather!– and good company.

Good thing she had a break coming up.

As the guy moved away, more movement further down the line caught her eye—Balfour, she saw, looking nice in plaid; the odd Quidditch player from Libertine; and a rather exhausted looking woman in dire need. At the sight of her, Cecily winced in sympathy; while she was no morning bird by half, she never had it quite as bad as some. She, at least, was mostly functional upon waking (if somewhat grumpy), and there was a definite lack of Inferi-ness even when she hadn’t had her coffee yet. Others weren’t quite so lucky.

“Hello,” she greeted Iris, offering a slight, sympathetic smile; the poor girl looked like death warmed over. “You look like you’ve had a long morning, if you don’t mind me saying.” Cecily’s hand hovered above the register. The offer to guess her order was tempting.