Post by Disgraced on Jun 4, 2022 1:27:30 GMT
The Devil's Brew was busier than Hell itself, or at least it certainly seemed like it had to be. Millennium City had millions of souls - plus or minus a few bodies to put them in - and it seemed like every one of them needed their morning coffee. Grace Lanius felt like the morning flew by in a flurry of boiling water, grinding beans, and mixing drinks to everyone's extremely exacting specifications. A lot of the drinks were merely coffee-adjacent, the sort of thing people ordered when they really just wanted a milkshake. She kept going, though - well, she had to. She'd had a triple espresso when she got in for her shift, she sure wasn't about to slow down for a while.
The first real breather, as usual, came around ten - right when people had finally gotten themselves off to work, including the ones who were going in late and blaming traffic. She leaned against the counter and breathed out a sigh of relief, just for long enough to notice that the garbage bins were overflowing - as usual. The girl working the register looked even more beaten than Grace must have: that made sense, since she had been the one dealing with all the people directly. Grace wasn't good with people - oh, she liked people just fine, but she wasn't good with them in a customer service sort of way. Something about "with four shots of chocolate syrup and extra extra whipped cream, does it really matter if it's nonfat milk?"
She was damn good at making coffee, though, even with four shots of chocolate syrup and extra extra whipped cream. Sighing again - in a much more resigned way - she pushed herself off the counter once more and headed towards the garbage bins, tying the bags off and shouldering one and grabbing another to head out the back door to the alley with the dumpster. She dropped the second bag to open the back door, wishing someone would open it for her with unnecessary grumpiness. It was pretty obvious that the dishwasher was up to his literal armpits in work, and the kitchen staff was trying to get things ready for the lunch rush, and it was fine, they were busy, but it still would have been nice if someone opened the door.
Grace was moving to pick up the second bag again when she noticed her hand was bothering her. Glancing down showed - yep - five almost invisible pinprick marks. If they were connected, they'd be in the shape of a star.
Or, you know, a pentagram.
She grabbed the bag a bit more forcefully than she needed to, and left for the alley. The door clanged shut behind her and Grace proceeded to the dumpster, wrinkling her nose in displeasure before tossing the bags in, wincing. Her hand was starting to hurt like a sonofabitch, which usually meant something was going on. She had no idea what that was, though, because some people were just bad at communicating.
"I don't know what the Hell you want!" This was spoken aloud, to one person in particular, although he probably wasn't here right now. This had not stopped Grace in the past, and was not likely to stop her in the future. Her tone was annoyed, but the sort of annoyed generally reserved for minor pests and not anything truly difficult.
Her hand twinged.
"Fucker."
Fine. So be it. She looked around the alley, to see what the devil was so damned important.
The first real breather, as usual, came around ten - right when people had finally gotten themselves off to work, including the ones who were going in late and blaming traffic. She leaned against the counter and breathed out a sigh of relief, just for long enough to notice that the garbage bins were overflowing - as usual. The girl working the register looked even more beaten than Grace must have: that made sense, since she had been the one dealing with all the people directly. Grace wasn't good with people - oh, she liked people just fine, but she wasn't good with them in a customer service sort of way. Something about "with four shots of chocolate syrup and extra extra whipped cream, does it really matter if it's nonfat milk?"
She was damn good at making coffee, though, even with four shots of chocolate syrup and extra extra whipped cream. Sighing again - in a much more resigned way - she pushed herself off the counter once more and headed towards the garbage bins, tying the bags off and shouldering one and grabbing another to head out the back door to the alley with the dumpster. She dropped the second bag to open the back door, wishing someone would open it for her with unnecessary grumpiness. It was pretty obvious that the dishwasher was up to his literal armpits in work, and the kitchen staff was trying to get things ready for the lunch rush, and it was fine, they were busy, but it still would have been nice if someone opened the door.
Grace was moving to pick up the second bag again when she noticed her hand was bothering her. Glancing down showed - yep - five almost invisible pinprick marks. If they were connected, they'd be in the shape of a star.
Or, you know, a pentagram.
She grabbed the bag a bit more forcefully than she needed to, and left for the alley. The door clanged shut behind her and Grace proceeded to the dumpster, wrinkling her nose in displeasure before tossing the bags in, wincing. Her hand was starting to hurt like a sonofabitch, which usually meant something was going on. She had no idea what that was, though, because some people were just bad at communicating.
"I don't know what the Hell you want!" This was spoken aloud, to one person in particular, although he probably wasn't here right now. This had not stopped Grace in the past, and was not likely to stop her in the future. Her tone was annoyed, but the sort of annoyed generally reserved for minor pests and not anything truly difficult.
Her hand twinged.
"Fucker."
Fine. So be it. She looked around the alley, to see what the devil was so damned important.
