Chatterbox is an event to help authors get to know their characters and stories better. I love to talk and I love to write dialog. Chatterbox is, essentially, an exercise in showing your character via the way he or she speaks. It's fun, it is sassy, it is simple. Each month I will assign a conversation topic and it will be your duty to write a conversation between several of your characters regarding whatever I topic I designated.Ermengarde pushed open the cafe door and was greeted by the smell of coffee brewing. The place was hopping. Pancakes and waffles were being order left and right and steaming mugs of coffee were being consumed with scandalous speed. She spotted Watkins sitting near the window, lifting a mug of coffee to his lips.
"Ah, Miss Montrose, you're here at last. I really should start telling you to come a half hour before I wish to see you. You do have a habit of being late."
"Oh, hush up, Watkins!" Ermengarde slipped into her chair and lifted the hat off her head, setting it on the chair next to her.
"I see that you're in a foul mood this morning. Order coffee and pancakes, then we'll talk."
A mug of coffee was presently placed in front of her along with a warm plates of pancakes stacked three high. "Bother! They've forgotten the maple syrup. I simple can't eat pancakes without syrup and I can't be agreeable until I've had my breakfast."
"Well, in that case we'd better summon a waiter right away. Sir! Please bring this lady a bottle of your finest maple syrup," he said, hailing a waiter who was balancing an armload of dirty dishes.
"Right away, sir." The waiter was back in a jiffy with the syrup which Ermengarde took gratefully. She smothered the pancakes in it with a little grin.
"Feeling better?" Watkins asked as Ermengarde took a bite.
"Indeed," but as she said the word, her elbow hit the side of her plate, catapulting it straight into her lap of pink satin. "Oh!" she jerked away from the table as syrup ran down her dress in swirls of thick brown.
"Hmm. I suppose this means you're not in an agreeable mood now, am I correct?" Watkins asked.
Ermengarde glanced up at him. "You've hit the nail on the head, Watkins."
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