Tired, late morning sun barely broke through the thick clouds of sulfurous vapor and swamp gas. A red-scaled serpent-girl hunched over an ancient cauldron. Stirring once clockwise, twice counter-clockwise. An ancient Crone tapped her long curved fingernail on the centuries old tome she held.
“It's working! It's working!” she squealed to the scale-covered woman. “Now... now four drops of shadow spider venom and when the light strikes the water your potion shall be complete.” The old crone broke into peals of manic laughter.
Bloodwyn looked up at her. “You really do have a sense of the dramatic, don't you?”
“Quiet, girl,” chastised the crone. “The spirits love a dramatic flair. And if you know what's best for you, you'll give the spirits what they want.”
This internship had been everything. Bloodwyn had wanted: a real opportunity to test her skill at the craft - a chance to see if it was worth pursuing that which she had dreamed about.
“Just a moment now, deary. Just a moment. Wait for the purple fumes to billow forth. That's right. Now shape it with your will.”
The Violet smoke rising from the cauldron started to swirl in time with the stirring of the cauldron. “Let your mind drift freely. Focus only on the smell and the turning of the cauldron. If your mind wanders, come back. Back to the subtle awareness of the unfolding mystical now.”
Bloodwyn had been practicing this frame of mind for months. It was no more effort for her to place her entire focus on the cloud than it was to focus on the swirl of milk as she steamed a latte. Her mind was empty now, allowing her worries and concerns to fill the cauldron.
“That's right - let your fear and your hate flow. Pour all that vexes you into the potion.”
The drifts and eddies in the smoke began creating pictures.
“That's right. Let the fear go.”
The smoke took shape. In Bloodwyn’s gaze, it darkened, swirled into a disk and expanded deeper. A loop formed, creating that most familiar shape: a coffee mug. The stale putrid light coming through the open window caught on a particular angle on the wall sundial. The shadow struck 10.
“10,” thought Bloodwyn. “10. What is 10? I need to remember 10.” Bloodwyn shot bolt upright.
“Oh no. Oh no!” cried Bloodwyn.
“What is it girl?” The crone recoiled from the terror in Bloodwyn's gaze.
“It's 10.”
“Yes, it's 10. 10 in the morning, to be precise.”
“No, no, you don't see. It's... it's 10!”
“Yes, yes, it's 10,” the crone repeated irritably, confusion written on her face.
“But I have to be at work at 10:30!”
The crone cackled. “Well, you'd better hurry then. We'll have to finish this ritual another day.”
“Can we?” Bloodwyn asked hopefully.
“Yes, deary. But do remember there's only one more month left in your internship, and, well, I wouldn't want you to miss out. So please do hurry back.”
“Thank you Mrs. Aubriena,” Bloodwyn called over her shoulder as she dove into the waters of the swamp. 30 minutes. She could make it. She had to make it. She had plans.
Bog water became fresh water as Bloodwyn swam furiously upstream.
“I can make it. I can make it,” she told herself time and again. The water became once again murky and she knew she must be at the sewer vent outside of the city now.
“Okay, past the old wreck of the pirate ship. Turn left in the narrow gap in the canal wall. There is the statue of the thrice-decapitated king of the Hydras. Getting closer to the lower end now.”
The water became thick and greasy for a moment.
“Ah, the Fryer Friar temple. Why do they always have to vent their Holy cooking oil into the river?” Bloodwyn groused to herself. “But this is good. I'm making good time.” She jumped up onto the East Lower West Main Street Bridge.
“Finally! Only a few more blocks.” She shook herself off as she slithered down the cobblestone.
“Not late at all. Whew, all according to plan. I wish I had another minute or two. I could pop in to-”
*Crash!*
“Our bakery is broken! Our bakery is broken!
“Berries and cream; berries and cream!”
A splash! A clatter! An explosion of custard caught Bloodwyn in the face. A very concerned looking halfling in a white chef’s hat stood in the door of a nearby bakery, arms crossed, staring down three adventurers.
“My house! My house!” Came a voice from next to Bloodwyn’s ear. She turned her head to see a tiny house in the tree. A small gnome stepped out of the front door. “My house is covered!”
“Can't get involved,” said Bloodwyn. “Have to go to work”
“Did you see who did this?” called the gnome.
“It came out of that shop; think it was the adventurers,” yelled Bloodwyn, now from half a block away.
“What am I going to do about all this cream?” she thought to herself. “My scales are all sticky.” She was reaching the plaza outside Radacast sound stage. “That's it! The statue.”
In front of the concert hall stood the statue of Radacast the Sound Mage, posing with his 14-pedal harmonic saxum-azusa-fiddle-phone. Water spilled from each trumpet into a shallow pool.
Bloodwyn dove into the four-inch deep water and rolled. Ancient coppers turned green by decades of abandonment clinked and clattered out of her way. “Almost there. Almost there. Cannot be late. Cannot stay late. I have plans!" Bloodwyn thought to herself, shaking herself and splattering the line of concert goers who were already getting settled in to wait for tonight's show
“Hey, watch it!”
“Sorry!” She was already off, passing by Smaugk’s Grill Joint. Now the Oval Tome Book Store. Finally she passed the misspelled sign reading The Magig Mug Coffee Shop - her home away from home.
She ducked into the back, snagging an apron off the hook. She had to move her bangles out of the way to get it into place.
“I’m here, Mr. Beanhammer!” Perfectly in time with the tinkle from the spring-loaded water clock on Mr. Beanhammer’s desk.
He peered at her from the little office on the other side of the galley kitchen. “Bloodwyn. Hi. Come in here a moment, lad.” [Got it, dwarves are gender blind, lol.]
“Still 'lass', Mr Beanhammer. Sorry, Mr. Beanhammer,” she panted. “Was I late?”
“No, no. You're exactly on time, as always lad. I think you will recognize our new hires.” He gestured to a tall, curly-haired girl with horns and cloven hooves, and a four-foot-tall elven boy with gray-green hair and a wisp of a goatee, who sat in front of him.
“Again it's still lass, Mr. Beanhammer. Oh! You guys. You got the job!”
“Thank you,” said Tawney. “I’m so excited! This is my first job ever. Well, not my first job ever. My first job ever was selling pies for my aunt at the fair. They were some very delicious pies, apple and cinnamon and pear. And, oh by the sleeping gods. There was so much music that day. I love music! Do you like music?”
Bloodwyn could feel her eyes glaze over at the verbal barrage of cheerfulness coming from her new colleague.
“I’m Mossy,” said the elf, hopping up on his chair and striking a pose with fists pressed against his hips. “We met the other day. I'm sure you remember.”
“How could I forget?” Bloodwyn said, with exaggerated cheerfulness.
“So, you'll be showing the two of them the ropes. Customer service, working the cash register, making coffee. I've got a new shipment of beans coming in and I need to catalog them and grade them based on The Method.”
“The Method?” Inquired the two new hires in unison.
“Aye, The Method.” With that, Mr. Beanhammer slid off of his raised chair, slung his long beard over his shoulder, and clomped with his metal boots over to the storage room and roastery that was the heart of Magic Mug coffee.
“What an interesting person,” said Tawney playing with her long ringlets.
“Who, Mr. Beanhammer?” asked Mossy. “That man is a legend. All the musicians in town talk about him. He apparently invented everything there is to know about the new way of making coffee. He knows all the bands - at least all the famous ones from Radacast. Apparently everyone comes here after a successful gig to celebrate.”
“Not everyone” said Bloodwyn “Mostly the fans come. The bands tend to send a gopher so they can have coffee backstage. At least that was until the health inspector said we needed to close the tunnel.”
“Wow,” the new hires said, in perfect time with one another.
“Speaking of," said Tawney, looking sheepish. “I made plans to go to tonight's show. Mr. Beanhammer said today's shift should end at six, and the show starts at seven, but he said it might go late if things get busy."
“Don't worry,” Bloodwyn assured them. “Today we're working the mid shift which means, unless something crazy happens, we'll be off at 6 and you'll still make it to your evening plans.”
Mossy seemed to think a little. “Yeah, but I don’t want to leave before the after-concert crowd shows up.”
“I suppose if you wanted to stay after your shift, you could,” Bloodwyn responded. “But for your first day on the job, that might be busier than you can handle. The only way that’s going to happen is if the night crew doesn’t show, and we’re totally swamped. But by then we'll be tired, and I plan to be long gone.”
“I don't know... It still sounds like fun seeing everyone here after a concert.” Mossy bounced with excitement almost knocking over the chair he stood on. “Everyone will be so hyped up and amped. They tell you all about what cool things happened.”
“Yeaaahh,” said Bloodwyn, that same forced cheerfulness creeping into her voice. “It's awesome. But it's awesome for another day. Right now, let's focus on making lattes.”
The milk swirled underneath the steam wand. Bloodwyn felt her mind sliding into that peaceful focused place, her consciousness reduced to the hissing of the the foamer. The light on the bubbles, the sweet smell of the cream. The warmth of the metal in her hands. Everything became background. Everything became this moment.
She slowly reached to her side and pressed the button on the espresso machine.
From the depths of her trance, she began to intone: “The steam comes from deep subterranean geothermal vents that Mr. Beanhammer found with a mining buddy of his.” She found her lips moving without consciously thinking through the words. Guided by reflex, her timing honed by a thousand repetitions. She reached out and grabbed the mug sitting on the espresso machine tray. “The steam is forced through the coffee grounds at exactly the right temperature and pressure.” She tilted the steamed milk and poured it down the side of the coffee mug to perfectly blend with the dark brew, and leave the caramel-colored crema on top undisturbed. “Mineral content in the water adds to a more full-bodied cup,” she said reverently. “The steam also heats the milk when the two are just right.” She started jiggling her wrists back and forth, creating bone white images on the surface of the coffee. “Not only does it blend perfectly, creating the most amazing flavor, but it's also…” She trailed off as she pulled away the carafe of milk. A star, a moon, a sundial, and a rose shedding petals had formed in the crema over the drink. “… how you make art.”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
The room came back into focus.
The faun towered over her, eyes the size of dinner plates. “I never knew that that's how you made it,” Tawney said. “That's amazing.”
“I could hardly see anything,” said the elf, hopping up to get a better look. “Are you sure I can't sit on your shoulder?”
“No,” said Bloodwyn, “it would throw my rhythm off.”
“Wow!” Mossy peered into the cup. “Does it mean something? Like can you tell my fortune with it?”
“Oh, of course.” said Bloodwyn. “This symbol here and that one there mean that you are going to spend a lot of time making lattes. Alright, I showed you how. Now you get to try.” These two weren't bad as far as new hires go. Certainly they were more intelligent than Calrose and Grog. It would be nice having someone with a pulse, unlike the people on the night shift.
Bloodwyn couldn't help but feel that Tawney was just a little too innocent and Mossy seemed a little too excitable and flighty to really stick around long term, but Bloodwyn hoped they would stay. If they lasted three months, she would get a bonus for recommending them to the position. It wasn't a large bonus, but every little bit brought her closer to her goals, her plan, and her education.
One look at Mossy excitedly jerking the carafe up and down as he tried to operate the espresso machine, and she had a sinking feeling he might not last.
“Let's hope the faun does better,” she thought, realizing that Tawny had been staring at a customer holding a guitar case for the past three minutes. “Focus,” said Bloodwyn. “You can learn a lot from watching each other.”
“Excellent!” said Mossy, “I made a drumstick.” The brackish brown liquid in his hands had a long, not entirely crooked smudge of light down the middle.
“That's great,” said Bloodwyn, sinking deeper into her professionally cheerful persona. “Now let's move on to tasting.” This was going to be a long day.
###
Bloodwyn squinted at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She opened the makeup bag that she kept stashed in her cubby. Pulling out a thin brush, she dipped it in the thick black paint. In a practiced motion, she neatly outlined her eye with a narrow circle and a sharp outward flourish. Enough had already gone wrong today and she would not let this part of the plan slip. Another stroke of the brush colored her full lips in darkness. Next came the sharp finger scales on each hand. She untangled and straightened the silver chains around her neck and adjusted the eldritch pendants and arcane sigils, allowing them to be displayed with maximum effect. “Only one more hour,” she thought to herself. One more hour and her shift would be done. She knew better than to wish for things to go smoothly. They never did. But with some luck, she could find her way to getting off work on time. Spirits willing, this day would go according to plan.
She looked around the cramped staff bathroom, her eyes landing on the toilet. For the thousandth time she wondered how the two-leggers used it. It simply didn't make sense to her. “Oh well,” she decided. “It's not polite to ask about things like that, so I'll just have to wonder.”
She took one last glance in the mirror at her full lips and dark makeup. “Perfect,” she said to herself. Sliding her apron back into place, she slithered out to the front of the shop. The day had been mercifully - well, not slow, but slow enough. Training the new hires was going smoothly. Mossy the elf stood chatting amiably with a customer as he slow poured a drip coffee. Tawney was doing exactly what she was told to do. Practice pulling espresso and steaming milk. It was starting to look like these two wouldn't be so bad after all; at least they could both stay focused.
Just one more hour and the next shift would arrive. She would be off and it would be time for her plans. There wasn't even much more that could go wrong.
The bell on the door softly chimed, followed by a clang of metal. Several sets of iron boots barged into the coffee shop. Great, just what she needed: adventurers.
The first to the counter was a dark-skinned…human? His ears were round, so - yes, he must be a human - wearing feathered armor with a spear on his back.
“Hello,” he said in a strange, stilted accent. “I would like, if I may, 36 of the brimstone lattes, 12 coffees, charcoal blend, 28 magma muffins, and two princess donuts.”
Typical overly complicated adventurer order.
“Coming right up, sir.” Bloodwyn almost didn't recognize the sound of her own voice, so strained as it was by excessive sweetness. After inscribing the order on a parchment, she passed it over to the two newbies.
“Here. You two get started on the drinks.” She passed a second parchment back into the kitchen, where a large green calloused hand grabbed it. A grunt was the only acknowledgment of the order.
Bloodwyn ignored the grunt and its owner, and turned to the next armored creature in line. She couldn't make out the species, but it had some sort of an avian head with a beak.
In a refined and eloquent squawk, the creature whistled and squeaked its order. “Yes, I will have 36 windswept cappuccinos - extra foam, 28 shots of hummingbird hype espresso, 49 cups of tea …” The order continued.
“Wait a minute,” said Mossy from several feet away. “What's this box in front of my face? Why does it say that I have a quest to bring Orthok The High Wind Warrior coffee?
“Don't mind that,” said Bloodwyn. “It happens when adventurers come around. Just think the word dismiss, and it'll go away.”
Bloodwyn dismissed a prompt of her own, and turned to the next hero in line - this time, a high elf in Indigo robes. “And what can I get for you,” - she hazarded a guess - “ … sir?”
“I shall require …”
The normal flow of time seem to be replaced by a montage, a blur of taking orders and steaming milk punctuated by exclamations from the new hires.
“Wait, what's XP and how did I earn it?”
“How are they even going to drink this much coffee?”
To which Bloodwyn could only reply: “Just focus on getting it done. Dismiss the boxes when they come up, and focus on making coffee. That's the only way we get through this.”
Time blurred, and before Bloodwyn knew what was happening she looked up to seean elegant figure with long dark hair, pale skin, and sharp teeth seemed to glide in through the front door. The Night Manager? Had been an hour already? The store was packed with adventurers. The line of ridiculous orders dozens of parchments long.
“Adventurers.” complained Vel-ira. “Of course we'd start the shift with adventurers. Bloodwyn, I'll take over on cash register. You help the new guys make drinks.”
This was exactly what Bloodwyn was worried about. With so many open orders she wouldn't be dismissed until there was a lull in business. She could practically see plans slipping away like greased eels down rapids.
She slithered over to meet with the two new hires. Mossy was a bundle of energy, ecstatically pouring water into a dozen coffee filters, somehow managing to keep up with both the orders and the flow of three different conversations. Granted, each conversation was about music, where Mossy had the home-field advantage. But it was impressive nonetheless. Tawney stood dazed and befuddled in front of the espresso machine, having to talk her way through each drink.
“Okay, so I add one pump of the lavender extract, and a swirl of the fire gem essence to the steamed milk and espresso and voila! A hot summer latte. Why is it blue? Okay, next.”
Bloodwyn cleared her throat. “It's crunch time. This is where we really see if you're cut out to sling coffee. Put your head down, and focus on the drink in front of you. And we will get out of this as soon as possible.” It sounded so simple when she said it like that. Bloodwyn wished she could believe her own words. It sure sounded good. And it seemed to put the new hires at ease. She just wasn't at all sure she could follow her own advice.
“Speaking of getting out of here - isn't a time for us to go?” asked Tawney.
“Almost,” said Bloodwyn. “We go when the night crew lets us go.”
“Oh, Bloodwyn, dear,” said Vel-ira. “Looks like Stitch is gonna be sick today. We may need you and the newbies for a bit longer while while we get things settled.”
Bloodwyn turned to her new colleagues. “You heard the woman. Let's focus on making coffee. Tawney, I’ll steam. You add in the mixers.” She could feel her frustration mounting, as one eel of time slipped faster after the other. “Head down. Focus on the latte.” She told herself. “The trick is to keep breathing.”
An age of swirling foam later, Bloodwyn became aware of a presence - a dark lascivious presence insinuating itself into the room. A flicker of blue flame at the doorway. Bloodwyn knew without seeing his face who was coming for her.
“M’lady,” said the hooded figure in a deep baritone.
“Oh hi, Baphomark,” she said, glancing up from the cup. It was hard to split her attention between the newcomer and the four-leaf clover she was painting on top of the drink.
“I was beginning to think you forgot about the plan,” said Baphomark as he pulled back his hood revealing his large curled goat horns.
“No!” said Bloodwyn. “The plan is still the plan. There's just been a little delay, that's all.”
“Are you sure, my dear? This looks to be a bit more than a minor delay.”
“No, this is just a minor setback. Everything will still go according to plan, on time. I just-” She looked at the small brawl breaking out at the other end of the shop, and the long queue of drink orders. “It's just going to be a little while before I can get off.”
“Indeed,” said Baphomark “Are you sure? This is the night.”
“I am,” she said in a rush. “This is the night. I want to; I really want to. I just-” she looked again at the orders awaiting her “-need some time.”
“Very well,” he said, running his fingers through his flaming blue hair. It always amazed Bloodwyn that the creature’s hair could be styled, despite being made of living flame. And yet, as he pulled his fingers through his hair it took on an even more windswept and carefree look. He cocked his head at a rakish angle. “Then I shall await you at the appointed place.”
“Yes,” she said. “See you there real soon.” With that, the young demonkin swaggered out the door and into the evening.
Bloodwyn could feel the stress tightening her shoulders. “I hate it when things don't go according to plan,” she said to herself. She looked at the crowd of adventurers and cursed them under her breath. “Did they have to do this every time they came into the shop?” she thought to herself. Then she caught a glance at the tip jar and remembered why any business would put up with such ridiculousness.
“But, like, why did they order so many things?” Mossy's question snapped her out of a milk foam induced trance.
“What was that?” Bloodwyn asked with a start.
“Like, I get that adventures have more money than other people, because of all the adventuring and treasure, but why do they order so many things? Like, how many coffees can you drink before they all go cold?”
Bloodwyn put the last drink of the order on a large tray and placed the tray on the counter. “Merdoc the Unwise!” She called out. “Order for Merdoc the Unwise!” She turned back to Mossy. “You see those golden pouches each one has their belt?”
“Yeah, I thought those were coin purses. Aren't they?”
“Well, you see, each one of those is a Bag of Holding. You know what a Bag of Holding is, right? So a Bag of Holding is a bag that's bigger on the inside. It has some kind of interdimensional space and you can put as much stuff as you want into it.”
“That sounds handy. But won't the coffee go cold?”
“Nope. Everything you put inside of it stays in the same state until you take it out. So two months from now, when that adventurer is craving a triple whipped Yeti milk double foam latte with iron blend espresso, he can just reach into his bag and boom! It’s as fresh as the second he picked it up off the counter.”
“So does this kind of thing happen often?” asked Mossy.
“Every time we get adventurers.”
“Wow. So, how often is that?”
“Once or twice a month?”
“So, isn't there some kind of policy? Like, if there are adventures, shouldn't they call in more staff?”
“Well, the way it's supposed to go is we stick around a little bit later to finish off the order. But some of the night crew called in sick, so we're kind of stuck here until they can find replacements.”
It was hard acknowledging the truth, especially because it meant that she would have to give up on her plans with Baphomark. But she couldn't lie to the newbies the way she lied to herself. It just seemed wrong not to tell them honestly.
“The way things are going, you might not make it to that show tonight, Tawney.”
The faun’s eyes grew wide.
“Oh, I won’t?” In a voice like a thousand kicked puppies, Tawney said, “I was really looking forward to that show. I've been hearing all week about this amazing bass solo and how this band has a mage college trained illusionist as part of its stage show. It's going to be the best show of the year. The best show of the century maybe.”
“No,” said Mossy. “Best show of the month maybe. I mean, don't get me wrong. They are really great. But the illusionist has no originality.”
Mossy and Tawney gazed longingly out the wide front windows down the plaza at Radacast the sound stage. Just then, the door was shoved open, and a giggling couple stepped out, followed by thirty or so bright pink butterflies made entirely out of light. Once outside, the butterflies flew in a figure eight pattern, and then bobbed up and down to the tune of an unheard guitar. Then they fluttered off into the sunset.
“See what I mean?” Said Mossy.
“So pretty!” said Tawney. “No, I really just must, must, must go!”
“Look,” said Bloodwyn, putting her hand on Tawney's shoulder. “I’ll be honest. This is one of the downsides of working here. Sometimes things don't go according to plan. You might not make it to the show tonight. But there will probably be another show. You'll make it eventually. And that time will be awesome. Sometimes things just don't go according to plan.” In the pit of her stomach she knew she was saying words that she could never live up to. She was thinking of Baphomark. “You might miss out on something great. But the more you dwell on that, the harder it gets. If you focus on what you're missing, all you'll remember is missing out. If you focus on the things that do work out, then you'll have a lifetime of memories.”
No sooner had she finished speaking than a familiar blue flame flickered across the front window.
“Oh, hi, Baphomark,” she said, looking up.
Baphomark smirked and leaned back. “It appears things did not go according to plan.”
“No,” said Bloodwyn. “I’m sorry, I couldn't get away from work. Can we reschedule our date for another night?”
“I'm sorry,” said Baphomark, “I only put up with being stood up once.” He turned with a flourish of his cape and was gone, or that's how Bloodwyn would have preferred it. Instead he got in line and ordered a coffee almost instantly. Bloodwyn could hear the childlike giggles coming from her new colleague as Baphomark began a line of banter while she made his coffee.
“What's up with that guy?” Mossy asked. “He's dressed way too fancy to be here at this time of night. What - is he going to the opera or something?”
“No, he just has style.”
“Dark and ominous kind of style,” said Mossy.
“Yeah,” said Bloodwyn softly. With all the day's disappointments rolled into one syllable.
“He sure seems to like Tawney. Wow! Did he just make a rose out of fire?”
Bloodwyn gritted her teeth. “It'll burn itself out in half an hour.”
“Whoa, really? How do you know?”
“He did the same trick for me when we first met.”
Two hours later the drinks were finally served. The adventurers were happy. Tips were shared out. The three baristas stepped out into the night. As one, they glanced at the line outside the music hall. At the sign over the door reading “Sold Out.” They stood together for a moment, unable to express what the three of them were collectively thinking.
“Not every night is like that…right?” asked Tawney.
“No,” said Bloodwyn. “Some nights are much more interesting. Well, good night, you two. Looks like I'm heading home.” With that she slithered away into the night.
###
“You’re home early,” Bloodwyn’s sister Maeve remarked. “Didn't you have a hot date tonight?”
“I did,” said Bloodwyn, “and looks like it's not happening.”
“That's disappointing. Well, Kendra and Millie are doing each other's makeup.” Maeve chatted on about what various family members were doing with their evening. Bloodwyn tuned her out and slithered down to her basement room.
Picking up a candle and her favorite book, she thought to herself, “well, at least this is a plan that always works out.”