Janette coughs roughly into her tissue. Blood. Ill. Possibly terminal.

"Are you okay?" Lara asks her, not because she cares, because god knows it would be better for everybody if the useless secretary would evacuate this plane of existence, but because it's polite, and Lara is anything if not polite.

"Oh yes, I'm fine, just a bit of a cold." Lies.

"Alright then, well, I'm going to pop into the coffee shop down the street, do you want anything?"

Janette looks vacant for a second. Janette always looks vacant. "Oh no, that's fine. I don't really like coffee." Lies. Teeth are coffee stained.

"Alright, I'll back in ten." With that, Lara turns towards the door and scuttles out of the office and into the streets. It's pouring rain, but when isn't it in November. Lara turns her coat collar up and dashes into the little coffee shop. There aren't any people in it, but there never is. She's positive that most of the employees use their work hours to stand out back and smoke. Fortunately, there is at least one person manning the counter.

Young. High school. Texting her boyfriend.

"Small coffee, black please." Lara smiles, because Lara is polite. The girl, Jane is what her name tag reads and it doesn't surprise her that the girl has such a plain name because it suits her, nods without looking up and yells towards the general direction of the other workers:

"Small black coffee!" She then predictably turns back to her phone and apparently hilarious boyfriend, as she giggles at whatever it is he said.

Not two minutes later, her coffee appears. Lara hands her the appropriate amount of cash and collects her coffee.

"Have a nice day." Fake smile.

Lara nods and walks back out into the street. Before she can cross, an old man walks straight into her, and her coffee, along with herself, goes tumbling to the ground.

"I'm so sorry miss, are you alright?" Fake concern. She collects herself. Her knees are probably scraped and her coffee is gone. More than anything, she wants to deck him right in the nose.

"I'm fine, it was my fault-" Before she can even finish, the old man has scurried off into the crowded London streets.

Everybody lies, she thinks to herself, but none of those lies matter in the slightest because nobody listens.