Against All Cipation

She sat at the small circular table the grain now strained from smears of spilled liquids a newly placed cup mist clouds of heat feathering upwards her gaze darted to the windows as a glare flicked its tongue against the glass mocca waves as she gently blew then sipped at its warmth the slight clink of cup and saucer bringing her eyes back to the battle ground her attention enthused in a single drop that rolled down the outside a cough from before the onslaught she interlocked her fingers giving her a sembelance of peace she slowly tiltled her head her eyes focused and still her tongue gently misting her lips her simple lips now pursed a growl giving birth to her utterance...