World Tree MUSH

The people in the Blossom known as Hartford have slowly begun to understand that their world is relatively different. Most iterations of New York City, for example, are lacking in magic buzzing through the air, of trails of rainbow light or glittering sparkles occasionally dancing through the early afternoon sky. Not many New York Cities have a population which is roughly half elves, dryads, nagas, the odd centaur, or more esoteric creatures wandering down the street with perfect normalcy, nor would they have an occasional scattering of amphibious cars filled with water driven by merfolk -- or the even rarer expensive cars with dark tinted windows driven by vampires, although in a bright sunny early afternoon, these are only slightly more common than in other versions of this city. Very few New York Cities, in point of fact, have a number of buildings which seem to be made entirely out of wood, or which seem to have been grown out of trees.

There's a coffee shop called the Early Latte a few blocks away from one such building in Lower Manhattan. The clientele is a more-or-less representative sample of the various beings who live in the city, and the humans here are actually outnumbered at the moment. It's a place to get away from it all and fill up on caffeine.

The cash register is currently being manned by a skinny blue-skinned young man with horns protruding from his forehead. A human is in the front, a stocky woman with short hair dyed black with a single red streak, dressed in a black T-shirt with anarchy symbol, and a plaid skirt in all the colors of the rainbow. "... and basically that was when I realized I never got around to taking Diantha to the makeshift money-changing center," Serrah is saying as she hands over the money for an afternoon coffee.

The young man chortles and rolls his eyes. "You're killing me, Delany!" he says with a sharp-toothed grin. "That's even worse than the 'flirting' incident with that woman from the Victorian world!"

Serrah has the grace to shrug. "I 'unno, that one's gonna be kind of hard to top."

    "Medium Americano," The boy doesn't turn his head to convey the order. After all, there's a Serrah to hold his total attention. 
    A woman with red hair peeks out from behind the gleaming stainless bulk of the espresso machine. Demon Queen has a few droplets of sweat beading on her face and looks distinctly uncomfortable in the too-small, borrowed uniform. She looks down at where the previous order has turned into a head-sized pile of foamed milk on the rack, then back up at the young man. "Right... umm... right away!" 
    She vanishes again, only announced by the sound of percussive maintenance of coffee machine and a hiss of pain as something hot touches someone not as hot.

  If the Early Latte has a bell on its front door, the bell rings as it's eased open, admitting what seems to be a human woman. She looks to be in her mid to late fifties, with pale blonde hair and blue eyes. Though a little short, her force of presence negates her stature.

  It's her clothes that mark her as either an offworlder, or a rich eccentric: Shirt, jacket, and leggings, with strange details. Her belt has some kind of strange sigil on it, and marks that almost look like rank insignia. The way she strides to the counter speaks of military training; so does her straight-backed posture as she folds her arms, rubs her jaw, and eyes the menu speculatively.

  Her eyes drop to the blue-skinned cashier. Her unblinking acceptance of his exoticism suggests experience with aliens or the supernatural. She doesn't smile. Her expression does soften slightly, though. "What would you recommend...?" Her accent sounds British, albeit a few degrees harder. "I'm sorry; I'm just tired." A sigh, and then something approaching humour. "Sometimes making a decision takes a lot out of you, you know...?"

The blue-haired boy glances at the retreating red-haired girl, and winces at the sound of 'percussive maintenance.'. "... You sure that new part-timer is a good idea, Delany?" he mutters. "She's got more of a demon feel than my dad, and that's saying something!"

Serrah shrugs. "Hey, don't look at me, Royce," she says, only slightly lowering her tone; she has a somewhat scratchy and androgynous voice. "Mavis thought she was good enough to hire, so ..."

And then the older woman arrives. Royce straightens up and almost looks like he's about to stand at attention, which causes Serrah to roll her eyes and ... do her best not to glare at a customer. Royce smiles, and says, "Well, you can't go wrong with a latte!"

"An early latte," Serrah can't resist murmuring. She looks the woman up and down and tries not to look like she's doing so. "Mocha latte if you're feeling bitter, just a black coffee if you want something sweet."

Royce pauses. "... You got that backwards, Delany."

"Shit," mutters Serrah, and she lets out a giggle which sounds distinctly different from her usual voice. She grins nervously at the woman. "Uh. Is it any wonder my job here is back room only?"

    Between getting the hose unkinked and figuring out how to actually turn off the milk valve, Demon Queen is totally in good shape. Definitely. Worthy of not getting side-eye from Royce. At least on the machine front. She -is- three orders behind already and this is a fairly quiet time for the shop. And- okay, no more stressing about it. Just. Do it.
    Demon Queen wipes her hands dry on her apron and sucks at her lightly burnt thumb. She glances down under the machine, where a very small, red-skinned imp (who is definitely not on the payroll) pulls out a notepad and shows her the orders listed. Okay, not too hard. Just a double espresso with two- 
    The imp jots down "Latte", then "Mocha Latte". Then "Black Coffee", in rapid succession. Demon Queen wasn't even paying attention up front, and ... THREE orders? just now? Awww this is worse than Hell, and she'd know it! 
    A tiny, evil whine comes out from behind the machine as Demon Queen reaches for a cup and works diligently through her queue. 

    "Double espresso with two pumps almond. Order up." She sounds ... actually she sounds sweet and gentle and normal, but for some reason her voice just carries the supernatural tinge of Evil with it.

  There are benefits to being mundane, and that helps in not noticing all the weird supernatural wushu in this city. A brow is quirked at the non-clerk's sudden case of nerves, and she frowns, tapping the fingers of one hand against the opposite forearm. "Coffee had better not be sweet, or something's very fundamentally wrong with the galaxy," she comments, blandly. "Best to stay in the back room. I'm afraid a career on the front lines wouldn't be for you." It's not spoken unkindly.

  The woman's eyes flick to the demon behind the counter. "Deep breaths," she encourages, completely straight-faces. "Remember that, and you'll do fine." She holds up a hand. "I'm in no hurry." ...Might as well order what's in the queue.

Serrah looks like she's about to talk back at the woman, thinks better of it, then just nods in agreement at that last comment. "I mean, yeah," she says. A thought strikes her. "Especially not literal front lines, I can tussle or throw a ball at someone's face and that's it." Slightly understating there, but ...

"Black coffee it is, then!" says Royce, before side-eying the imp. "Uh ... Qarr'zy," he says, effortlessly pronouncing Demon Queen's last name, "what is your ... little guy doing?"

"Chill, Royce," says Serrah, as another customer brusquely takes the order which was just brought out. "Daria, do you need me to head back and poke Lyla or Mavis? Or Ge--" She hesitates. "... actually, probably not Gem ..." (An elf woman who alternately works in the backroom and at the cash register, and who has been giving Demon Queen one continuous cold shoulder since she was hired.)

    "Tick its." Demon Queen responds back, nervously, "I can't remember the... the orders. So I summoned a ... him to... help with that?" 
    She cringes, expecting reprimand any second, "Is that not okay? I didn't see a-any rules about demon summoning?" 
    In the meantime, though, her hands finally find the way to get the lid on the next cup to be served. She looks down at it, about to announce, and chokes up. No idea... at all... what she just made. 

    "Large latte," The tiny imp whispers, pointing at the notepad. 

    "Large Latte, order u-up." Demon Queen snaps her attention back to Serrah, "I'm okay. I'm okay. I've just got... got... 4 more. Umm... I need to take out the foam afterwards is all. I'm fine. Pleasedon'tfireme."

Serrah grins, and nods to Royce. "See? She just needs a little help, is all," she says. "Also, helping with coffee orders is the most awesome possible use for demon summoning, lemme tell you."

Royce grumbles, but doesn't say anything.

Serrah pauses as Daria brings out the large latte. "Uh ..." An elf businessman in a tacky suit comes up to takes it. "-- Oh right, I ordered the medium latte, duh." She shakes her head. "Anyway, Daria, just relax. Me 'n' Royce are the last people you need to worry about. I'm sure Gem will ..." She hesitates. "Okay, I'm not sure Gem will come around, but she doesn't have firing authority either."

Royce gives Serrah a Look. "I'll give you this much," he says. "Coworkers are better than customers for flirting with outworlders --"

Serrah bursts out laughing nervously. "Will both you and Lyla stop that!" she says, red-faced. "I-I'm not flirting with anyone, jeez!"

    Demon Queen looks between Serrah and Royce repeatedly and doesn't start laughing until Serrah starts laughing, and almost exactly copies the nervousness of that laughter, too. The imp follows, laughing underneath the coffee machine in a high-pitched, echoey sort of way. 
    One straightening tug to her uniform (which keeps riding up on her... good thing the apron's there), and Daaria's back behind the machine again. 

    "Medium Latte." The imp says. 
    A medium cup gets snatched up from the pile. Espresso. Foa- wait no, MILK. Right. There's a soft bonk behind the machine as Demon Queen's hornless forehead gently taps the top of the machine and she mutters something about having JUST made this. 

    "Medium Latte, order up!"

  The offworlder in question has since stepped back to pull a small cylinder out, holding a whispered conversation with a grave expression; for the most part it isn't audible over the din of the coffee shop, although the name or term 'proxy' comes up once in a while. After a few minutes, she concludes her conversation and glances back up. One brow arches skeptically, and she sighs in subdued exasperation. "It was about as subtle as a supernova," she agrees. "For one, as much as I hate to say this, I'm probably old enough to be your mother. For two, I'm taken, in a manner of speaking. For three... well, not my preference. No offence."

  She flicks a glance at the minutes-from-meltdown demon girl behind the counter (is she a Zabrak, maybe?), and glances back at Serrah. "You were. And sorry, but I've got to take his side." She jerks her chin at Royce. "If you work here, you probably shouldn't do that with your customers. It's not necessarily good for the reputation, you know...?" She shrugs one shoulder. "Ah, well. What do you recommend?"

Serrah smiles and accepts the latte. "Uh. There you go," she says, accepting the coffee. "Seriously though," she adds, pausing to take a sip ... which she nearly spits out at the older woman's gentle upbraiding. "He was talking about Daria!" she says, gesturing to Demon Queen. "And you are hella not my type!" She groans. "It's a total exaggeration, anyway! Lyla and Royce are just giving me a hard time, fer chrissakes!"

Royce grins, and shrugs. "Eh, guilty as charged," he says. He glances at Serrah, but she's looking in every direction except at Royce, Daria, or Juno and doesn't seem interested in suggesting types of coffee. "Well," he says, "lattes are the usual go-to for here, but we can also do a strong black coffee."

    Daaria diligently works through the rest of the order queue, making a Latte, then another Latte, then a small black coffee, and sets them out together. "A Latte, A Mocha Latte, and a Black Coffee, order up!" 

    ... 

    Confused silence, because nobody had ordered any of those. The imp had just written down everything that Serrah had said, because imps are kinda dumb. 

    "Latte, Mocha Latte, Black Coffee, order up!?"

  Something in the older woman's eyes softens, and she gives a gentle snort of amusement, although the line of her mouth never quite moves.

  To the hapless novice barista, Juno only raises a brow. The other arches at the sound of said barista's forehead tapping the back of the machine. Her eyes flit over to Royce with an arched brow, as though silently asking whether this is commonplace, and then back to where Serrah is pointedly not looking anywhere in particular. "Maybe a five-minute break?" she suggests, for the melting-down employee.

  The Rebel General shrugs.

  "Anyway." Forced cheer, in a let's put this incident behind us and never speak of it again before the inevitable heat death of the universe sort of tone. "The name of this place is the Early Latte, so I'll try..."

  Juno glances over again at the sound of the mis-orders, and the resulting silence. She shakes her head, to the demonic barista. "I don't think anybody actually ordered any of those. Not to my knowledge, anyway." She considers. "But I suppose I'll take the latte."

Serrah regains just enough of her composure to react to these orders. "Uh ... hang on," she says. "Did ..."

Royce furrows his brow, and nods to the older woman. "She's right, nobody ordered that," he says. "Or ..." He looks over at Juno, and then over at the imp with the Extremely Helpful Notepad. "... wait, I think Serrah and I just mentioned them?"

Serrah slowly facepalms. "Well, uh ... at least we got the latte right there," she says. She takes a deep breath to calm herself, and drinks from her own latte.

Royce nods, and turns to the Rebel General. "I guess that works," he says. "That'll be two and a half Hartford dollars. Did you pick up local currency from the money changing centers here? If not, there's just this little slip you sign, certifying that the money you gave us is an equivalent amount."

Serrah looks over. "Oh, they got that going?" she says. "Cool."

    "Oh shoot. Sorry about that." Demon Queen glares at the imp, with promises of Hell dancing in her eyes, "I'll get... sorry." 
    Juno gets a grateful look full of Evil. It's like millions of demons bowed down together in thanks. The two extra cups gets whisked back behind the machine while Demon Queen looks hopefully over at the door... maybe someone come in and will order these things?

  Two and a half Hartford dollars. Juno blinks owlishly before reaching to dig around in a pocket, producing two and a half Hartfdord dollars, which suggests somebody had the presence of mind to stop at a currency exchange. Always be prepared! It makes life easier, if nothing else.

  It's possible she doesn't notice the more demonic connotations of Demon Queen's expressions. She looks pretty normal, and as far as supernatural senses go, she... yup, reads as boringly mundane.

  Lifting her latte cup in salute, the Rebel General bobs her head in grateful gesture. "Thanks. This ought to keep me going for a little while longer. Enjoy the rest of your evening." With that, provided none of the above move to stop her, Juno will turn and leave, melting back into the crowd outside.

Royce nods and smiles. "You too!" he says. "Enjoy your drink!"

Serrah nods noncommittally, and takes another sip of her latte. She waits until Juno has left, before turning to Royce. "Okay, but seriously," she says. "You and Lyla both need to cut that 'oh Serrah is flirting' shit out, all right?"

"Right, okay, sorry ..."