The Depresso Expressoby Q-22ChaptersNightmare(Night) Fuel: Part 1 of 2Nightmare(Night) Fuel: Part 2 of 2Sad Person Discount: Pt. 1Sad Person Discount: Part 2A Very Warm, Dark, and Gentle DrinkThe Management Just Doesn't Know What Went WrongNightmare(Night) Fuel: Part 1 of 2Crux thought his scarf was nice. Laid out flat, half of it was a light grey, the other half was a dark grey, and a thin maroon line bisected the two. It didn't complement his auburn feathers quite the way he would have liked it to, but it was comfortable. All in all, he liked it. The dazzling unicorn mare on the other side of the counter seemed to like it too. So much, in fact, that she trailed off into a lecture on different color combinations and material choice concerning the matching of scarves and bodily appearance. Somehow, she managed to criticize every aspect of the single piece of clothing he wore without insulting him, and he wasn't sure how to feel about it. On one talon, a chocolate brown and cream white scarf WOULD better compliment his feathers. On the other talon, it would mean NOT wearing his favorite scarf. The matter would have to wait for later, though, as time (and bits) were a'wastin'. As part of his contract, Crux was allowed to make himself drinks to keep him up throughout the night. He was, as of the moment, drinking a simple Stalliongrad dark roast brew, free of sugar and cream, as bitter as the pony he procured the beans from. Truly, it was THE blend for rude but necessary interruptions. SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIP "Oh, have I been rambling? You must forgive me, darling. I do tend to do that sometimes." Perfect. A combination of blunt-force-trauma-to-the-head, sleep deprivation, and coffee dependence left Crux's short term memory lacking in the department of functionality. Evidently he wasn't the best flier as a child, and his early attempts ended with a lot of minor concussions. Under the circumstances, he had to really try to remember all the little things, especially while working. After some experimenting, he began using a small notepad/sketchbook to log his current cafe orders and menial tasks. He also doodled. Sometimes. As the fashion fanatic was leaving the cafe/train car, Crux was staring at his notepad, genuinely bamboozled at the amount of espresso she had just walked out with. Though, she DID pay extra for it, and then extra extra to keep the actual purchase off the books. Adjusting his shades, he scribbled the transaction notes out of the little pad. Immediately after, he roughly drew out the shape of a mare's head and tried to copy how she had her mane. It was mindbogglingly unique, and he wanted to remember. Midnight was encroaching, and there was a talonful of costumed colts and fillies popping in and out, asking for candy or sweets. When Crux explained that said sweets and candy needed to be purchased, most would just move onto the next train car. The too-cool-to-read-up-on-pony-history griffin was, at the very least, deeply confused by this. At first he thought it was just a small group of friends trying to weasel free goods out of him, but the continued flow of children and repeated requests had put a few dents in his initial assumption. Eventually, a chartreuse pegasus filly dressed up as a lion managed to drag her father over, likely to pay for the chocolate chip muffin she had been oogling. An adult, Crux assumed, meant answers. Maybe. The unicorn stallion sighed while his daughter nudged him forward, a little pouch full of bits levitating into view. "How much for the muffin?" he asked, his eyes darting to the baked good on the shelf before returning to looking into the reflective, soul-consuming blackness of Crux's sunglasses. Crux quickly jotted the order down in his notepad for posterity, not breaking eye contact. To his credit, he wasn't trying to be intimidating, he just thought it was funny. "Four bits for a small, six bits for a large," Crux said in a managerly managerial tone. The stallion glanced back at his waiting daughter, who was tapping a forehoof on the floor impatiently. "Busy night?" he probed, wondering if he could glean ANY information about what was going on. He didn't know a lot about pony clothing norms outside of Manehatten, but he was (mostly) sure that children didn't run around in eccentric costumes 24/7. Six little coins levitated across the counter, swiftly swept up by one of Crux's talons while the other talon snagged a large muffin from under the counter. "Oh, you know, Nightmare Night and all," said the stallion as he levitated the large muffin over to his suddenly appreciative and hyper-happy daughter. She immediately dug into it with a gleeful hum, holding it between her forehooves. The action drew a "d'awwww" from everyone in the cafe, except Crux. He was busy being irritated at the lack of useful information. "Nightmare Night" could mean anything! Nightmare(Night) Fuel: Part 2 of 2The rest of the night was equally as uninformative and twice as quiet. Only two sentient beings capable of interaction occupied the cafe/cabin, and neither seemed interested in sparking a conversation. One was a customer thoroughly involved in a Mocha-Mocha Style mocha (yes, that's the official name, blame the board for approving it) and what looked like sheet music. Crux, distant as ever, was perfectly fine with the silence, sipping the remains of his bitter, lukewarm Stalliongrad roast. How they grew beans up there, he'd never know, but it was good stuff. Eventually, the light brownish grey mare with the darker grey mane (not to mention the cutest and most out of place bowtie Crux had ever seen in his life) was on her way out. The train had stopped, evidently, and more ponies were getting off than on. Crux picked up on this by peeking out one of the windows that were adjacent to the counter. Lots of the little costumed children were rushing out, practically herded by their parents and/or guardians. Yet another reason he was glad to not have tiny half-versions of him running around! He went back to his drink, trying to sip down the last bits of it at the bottom. Truly, the bottom of the cup was the most intimidating to finish, being an unholy mix of a few grounds and the strongest coffee in the cup. The tall avian wasn't looking forward to finishing the bottom of the pot. Since the cafe was presently empty, Crux went about tidying up what he could. A few small spills at a window table, some crumbs from the earlier muffin nomming, miscellaneous candy wrappers from passing colts and fillies. He was busying himself by sweeping up the accumulated wrappers, amazed at how many there were. Just by looking, it didn't SEEM like a lot, but, damn. "Really, they don't have the decency to use literally any of the wastebins around the cabin? A bunch of tiny savages, the lot of them!" Crux halfheartedly muttered to himself. He wasn't really upset, what with kids being kids and all, but he still had the right to complain about it. He finished up his little maintenance run and hopped back over the counter, where he proceeded to wait for something to happen. ... Alright, nothing was happening, this was nice. He could doodle now. Yes. No one would interrupt. It's late. All the ponies are out harassing other people for candy. No one's going to just barge in and- "BEHOLD!" Anything else said beyond that was lost to the depths of space and time as an unholy ringing deafened all other sound. That single shout took Crux's eardrums and pounded on them like they were the set of some novice drummer on a sugar high. His pencil tip snapped mid-drawing and he dug a trench through several pages of his small, delicate notebook. Damn. He pushed his shades back up, sighed, and looked up to his newest, and definitely loudest, customer. O' shit. Princess Luna. From all the shaking glass and the deep, sensational vibrating he felt thrumming in his chest, he surmised that she was making heavy use of the Royal Canterlot Voice. Alas, he heard only ringing. He had been briefed about this happening very shortly before he came, and really didn't expect this to happen, much like the board didn't. After a few seconds, the Princess eventually recognized the pained look of incomprehension scrawled onto Crux's birdy face and stopped talking, her expression rapidly going from "behold my royal majesty" to "oh gosh oh geez I stepped on a flower". Or something. A few minutes passed before either of them did, or said, anything (aside from a few dozen unheard apologies on Luna's end.) By then, Crux could mostly hear in one ear, so, he figured he'd be able to take her order. Maybe. "So, ah...you. What can I get ya?" He flipped to an undamaged page in his notebook and grabbed a fresh pencil from under the counter. He figured he'd just roll with the punch, pretend like what just happened didn't just happen. Luna seemed to agree. "We would like a tall, non-fat latte with caramel drizzle." She was quick to order, likely having thought this through beforehand. Crux didn't even flinch at the royal "we". Scribble scribble. Scribble. "Oh, and, ah...Four shots of espresso." Scribble. Crux tapped the eraser of his pencil against his beak. "Anything else?" Luna glanced over her shoulder at the door. Crux's gaze followed, though he didn't move his head. Sunglasses. Good for looking elsewhere when everyone else thinks your attention is still set on them. Outside were two of Luna's guards, making motions with their hooves and mouthing something. Crux didn't know why they hadn't just...been inside to order for themselves, but he wasn't paid to ask questions and he honestly didn't want the answers. When the guards seemed to be finished, both turning back around and disappearing from the train car's tiny door windows, Luna looked back to Crux, looking...well, Crux thought she looked a mix between confused and conflicted. Her brows were furrowed, mouth closed and drawn back, ears flattened longitudinally, etc. etc. He just waited for her to speak, pencil at the ready. "Perhaps just..." Seven second pause. Squinting. Dead silence. "...two Midnight Mochas?" Scribble scribble. "Anything else?" Luna looked back at the door. No one was currently presen- Whomp, nevermind, the large face of a pale unicorn with a translucent rainbow mane was- Nope, just focus on the order, don't think about how two of Equestria's primary leaders are literally- not helping not helping nothelpingjusttaketheorderdamnit. Crux turned his attention solely to his notepad as Celestia traced the outline of an isosceles triangle in the glass with her forehooves. Luna rolled her eyes and sighed. "A small, and we sincerely mean this, small slice of vanilla cheesecake. That will be all. Thank you for waiting that out." Scribble scrabble. Crux nodded in response after looking over the page to summarize everything, promptly getting to his work, preparing...well, everything on the order, duh. Roughly seven, maybe eight, minutes later, three hot drinks had been prepared and a slice of cheesecake sat comfortably on its side in a little takeaway box. Bits were exchanged, Luna thanked Crux for his time, and she left with her purchases. Crux drew a little crescent moon, and some stars, on the upper left corner of the written order. He almost smiled. Author's Note I'm happy with this. Sad Person Discount: Pt. 1It was another slow night, as per usual during the non-holiday seasons, and Crux was once more destroying his stomach lining- er I mean, drinking another cup of coffee. He wasn't sure who worked the day shifts, but he doubted they drank as much as he did (coffee or alcohol, take your pick.) Barring the equipment behind the counter with him, his sipping was contending with the ticking minimalist clock on the other side of the room for "loudest sound". Business was slow, as per usual. Hm. There he went again, using that "as per usual" phrase in his head to describe the crushing loneliness of his working environment. He wasn't sure if he liked this over the hustle and bustle from the city. Sure, it was fun then, and there were more, you know, people; but here he was getting free drink access 24/7, so, if you really think about it- His caffeine-addled thoughts were interrupted when the little bell set atop the "front" door of the train car was smacked viciously by its door. He flinched, sending a whollop of coffee flinging from his mug and into the air, which he promptly caught by moving the mug over by an inch or two. Saved himself the trouble of bending down and wiping it up. Back to the door, it was now closing painfully slow, making a pitched creaking sound. It was being kept open by a slight breeze that somehow got through the flexible barrier that had been established between the cafe car and the passenger car in front of it, sending a little chill down Crux's spine as it (the breeze, not the door) blew by. He sipped his drink thoughtfully, looking over the newcomer. Mare, early adulthood, terracotta/deep brown color palette, naturally frowny, curly hair, stumbly steppings, aura of sad, etc. He adjusted his sunglasses while the door closed fully and she ambled over to the counter. Crux set his drink down and picked up his notebook. Job time. Fresh pencil was brought to bear on old paper and he straightened himself up. "Long night?" he asked sympathetically, skipping the standard "nice greeting" and jumping right to the "bartender" barista mode. He didn't expect her to smack her face onto the counter. She did, and she groaned too. Her hair looked like spilled spaghetti on the counter top. Sort of. It was the only analogy Crux could come up with on such short notice. "Ooooohhh you have nooooo idea!.." she exclaimed, somewhat sarcastically, with a little laugh that turned into a sob, her face still right on the counter. She snapped back up with a wobble and sniffed hard, her eyes a little more red than they were when she walked it. He gently nudged a tissue box over toward her. It had been sitting unused behind the register for some time- the locals at every stop never seemed to need it, either having their own tissues or by just not having runny noses while out getting coffee -and so he figured it'd be a good idea to offer it. It didn't work out so well. Upon seeing the tissues, her restrained snivels and sniffles only got worse and she looked just about ready to collapse in on herself. A moment before he could slowly pull the box back, she nabbed a few tissues, and upon reconsidering, took the entire box. After some fumbling, lots of nose-blowing, and a good deal of awkward drink sippage on Crux's part, she seemed to have settled. She also managed to murder an entire box of tissues and completely fill one of the wastebins, but that was fine. Totally fine. "So," he began, tapping the eraser end of his pencil against his pad. "Need some time, or are you ready to order now?" He tried to make his voice a little less punctual and a little more, well, soft? Nice? He wasn't sure what he was trying to sound like, or what he actually came across as. This wasn't a situation he had to deal with often, so, unprepared was he. She took a second or two (Crux wasn't counting, time passed reeeeaaalll slow at this hour) to think, eyes briefly skimming the menu, like she was unfamiliar with all the tacky names. Crux personally just called all the drinks by what they actually were, but policy (as well as menu familiarity) demanded he learn all the brand names too. It was often confusing for folks who weren't familiar with the corporate vocabulary. "Uhg...Uh, I dunno- Anything'll do, as long as it's sweet and caffeinated." "Mmmhm. That it?" Scribble scribble. Scribble. Maybe a mocha? Caramel latte? She squinted at the menu, sniffling again and looking for...something. "Maybe a cookie? Ah, chocolate chip?" Scribble scribble. A look of questioning. A returned shrug. "Alright, that brings your total to-" He glanced up at her again, saw the momentary panic on her face, and decided to be a decent birb. It was late. She looked like she'd been dragged through hell. Why not? "-none, because it's on the house." Panic turned to confusion, then accepting resignation. "Might I ask why?" "Sad person discount." "Riiight." "No, seriously, it's policy. 'If the customer is looking mean, give them the holy bean.' Never heard that before?" For clarity's sake, Crux noticed that the mare didn't have anything with her. No carrying bags or pockets usually meant no little bag full o' bits. No bits, no money. No money, no official transaction. "Wha-" "Kidding, kidding. I'm kidding." A pause. "Mostly." Author's Note So! I've decided to stick with chopping up my chapters into smaller bits and pieces to make the whole process a little easier on myself. Stuff's been busy, and I've been trying to make more time for writing, but it's still hard, and if you write then you probably already know all this- Point is, here's this for now, hopefully the rest will come quicker! Sad Person Discount: Part 2"So, if I have this correctly-" Crux said while mixing a cup of chocolate milk, "-you got kicked out of your old apartment, and have found a new one with some friends. But your new landlord doesn't like you so you have to change a crap ton of stuff about you or you'll be kicked out again?" The two had been talking for a few minutes, and the mare had been especially vague and skippy while describing her situation. She didn't seem too keen on sharing more detail, and Crux knew not to press for more. She'd tell if she wanted to tell. Maybe. Didn't always work like that but still, he didn't know her outside of being a first-time customer, so, he wasn't going to make any assumptions that might lead to conflict. "More or less that, yeah, kind of," she replied, tapping a rear hood idly while she sipped on the warm, caffeinated beverage between her forehooves. She was seated at one of the bar stools in front of the far counter and Crux was just sitting back on his haunches. "That's not all of it, of course, but you'd just say I'm crazy if I told you everything." She drooped a bit, despite her tone having an acidic bite to it. Of course, that lingering bitterness she spoke with likely wasn't directed at him, so Crux did all he could to ignore it, keeping his composition, uh, composed. "Bah, you don't need to tell me everything. Didn't need to tell me any of it, really. I'm just some bird behind a counter serving drinks and assorted food items to night owls stricken with the munchies," Crux mused before he tipped his cup back and sent a cascading waterfall of calcium-rich chocolaty goodness into his beak and subsequently down his gullet. He hadn't made much, and was done half of it in one sip. The mare sighed, gingerly nudging her mug to the side before whumping her chin down in her hooves on the counter top. "Still, it felt good to talk about with someo- somepony...else. You know? Somepony you don't have to worry about ever seeing again?" she asked/blurted, wincing afterward. Harsh, but fair. He assumed (ha, hypocrite) that she was on the verge of an apology for sounding mean and cut in just after she finished speaking. "Yeah, I understand that well enough. Plenty of folk come in and just vent. I end up forgetting most of it, not intentionally, so it's fine." He shrugged and took another swig of his milk, shuddering as it went down. He really shouldn't have been drinking it, but the unpleasant feeling it left in his gut kept him awake. Probably wasn't a very healthy habit, but still, overdosing on caffeine would probably be worse. After that it was mostly idle chatter. Talk about the smoothness of the train ride, how Crux kept all his stuff in place when the train went on slopes, what it was like working the "graveyard shift", and so forth. Eventually the mare ran out of coffee and Crux wasn't going to break any more policy, so the two said their goodbyes and left each other at a nice, neutral standing. The ringing of the traincar door's bell was the loudest thing Crux heard until his shift was over, when it rang again after he cleaned up shop for the morning shift. He didn't technically have to, but he had noticed that whoever ran the day shift swept up and kept things tidy before his shift, so, the least he could do was return the favor. Author's Note Me fingers ache, arrg. A Very Warm, Dark, and Gentle DrinkCrux's request to HR for assistance during the Hearthswarming holiday rush was met with a delayed response that consisted of a small, poorly treated cardboard box and a sticky note. What he really needed, and had asked for, was someone to stand around and occasionally take orders in his place while he prepared drinks. He was fairly quick, but swapping between drink-making and order-taking during the occasional rush of departing or boarding customers had thrown him off pace once or twice. He figured his request would probably be granted, maybe, or at the very least denied in a dignified manner. He wasn't sure what to make of what he got. Crux didn't have time to open the box or read the note in the evening. The traveling crowd kept him busy, if just below overwhelmed. Little of note happened, which he was grateful for. Later into the night, when the car/cafe/thing was mostly devoid of other life- a unicorn from the train's decoration department was putting up a rather large painting on the wall across from the counter -Crux figured he had some free time to check out what HR had sent him earlier. Picking up the note, he felt it lightly dusted in something ashy and burnt-smelling. A shake or two got most of the dust off, and he recognized the handwriting as belonging to whoever was behind the Mocha Mocha name. His paychecks had a stamped copy of their signature, and the dark purple calligraphy he was being treated to matched the signature loop for loop. Crux, you amazingly fantastic avian feline! Why did you not write sooner? Thou'st surely knows we taketh the greatest care of our employees! Especially the toilsome few working nightmare shifts! However dost thou stayeth sane, aboard such a maddening vessel of corporate-consumer hell? Don't bother answering, for I already know'st it is because you are aptly suited for thine treacherous role in our journey to stability and economic salvation. It is with that in mind do I recognize that even the grandest champions sometimes require a suitable co-operator, for what is this troublesome trek without befitting companionship? All the best, ~MM "Blegh." He didn't even read it aloud and he still felt gross. Who still writes like this? Well- he could think of a few big-name ponies, but none of them seemed like they had the time to be running a shifty train cafe network. Beyond the terrible writing, the overly dramatic description of what he assumed to be the night shift was off-putting, like there was something he wasn't picking up on, or had yet to experience. Or this was just a company joke to make the night workers paranoid. He figured he'd start worrying about batshit crazy things when they started happening, rather than before. Returning his eyes to the note, he found a P.S. Oh, and despite the item name and description, don't actually try to wash your hooves- or talons -with this. Also, don't get it wet. And please, in the name of all things jolly and warm, do not eat this. Not that you would, but just in case, know that this thing will literally go right through you. Like, right through. Instant stomach pump. Don't even lick it. Trust me. Do not lick the stone. Well, that built up a good deal of interest. Sort of. Crux set the note on the counter, wiped his digits off on his apron, and opened the box with a claw. Inside was a pale rock, wrapped in a dirtied scrap of fabric. It was about as long as his hand, and roughly the width of one of the smaller mugs he had on a secured rack behind the counter. One of the ends outside the wrapping looked like it had been scraped and smoothed, while the other just looked like your average chunk of faintly glowing stone. He gently set it on the counter, stuck a note to it warning customers not to lick it, and stared at it in contemplation. How exactly did this help? Was it one of those stress relief things? Was he supposed to talk to the rock about his feelings? Throw it at annoying customers? Squeeze it passive aggressively? His attention was yanked back to things that actually mattered when an interesting duo entered the car. Coming through the door was a tall, regal unicorn who was, well, very red. Her mane, a dark cherry red, contrasted her bright, eye-snaring coat. She wore a fittingly reddish-brown overcoat, and had black winter boots on her hooves. Seated on her withers- oh, and for the reader's sense of scale, she bumped her forehead on the doorframe before entering. Anyway -was a compact little unicorn whose eyes were concealed beneath a mane worthy of a kirin. The only things immediately indicating he wasn't a child were the long, stabby horn and the mane-colored tufts of a goatee. His coat was a pale grey and his mane (and 'facial hair') was(were) a charcoal black. He was fairly underdressed in comparison to the red mare, only sporting a maroon bowtie and woolen slipper-socks. "Comfy", thought Crux, kind of wishing he had slippers at work. He'd have to remember to get a pair to match the work uniform. Maybe some tipless gloves too- The ordering went without issue, though the two would giggle often, nuzzling and poking noses. Crux felt a little fuzzy inside watching their sporadic, lovey-dovey antics, and he did his best not to think too hard on a literal interpretation of feeling fuzzy on the inside. He shuddered, having failed immediately, and went to work making their drinks. Lucky for him, they both just ordered the stuff from the pots, so they had their beverages in well under a minute. He went back to pondering the use of the stone while the two settled themselves at a corner booth, the pale stallion cozily snuggled in the tall mare's lap. And the night moved on, quietly. Author's Note I'm aliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiive The Management Just Doesn't Know What Went WrongMany things go bump in the night. Werewolves, ghosts, the tree branch against your window, college papers, deadlines, taxes, train wheels, sky carriage turbulence, eldritch alicorns from the moon, etc. For the single barista stuffed into the "night shift" at Mocha Mocha's, all of the aforementioned bumppenings (and more) have applied. Baristas in the night shift never stayed long on account of all the weirdness. "Too boring," some would say. "Not boring enough," others would say. "It nearly ate me!" more than a few would write in their transfer requests and resignation forms. When the management finally decided to look into the various sources of all the complaints, normal and odd alike, they decided to find a cost-effective solution within company boundaries: hire somepony tough! It didn't work! After the next dozen resignations over the course of several weeks, management revisited the issue. After some consideration, it was decided to suggest the position to a longtime company veteran from inner-city Manehatten, a slender griffin going by the name Crux (slender as in tall and lanky, not Slenderman. Just needed to clear that up.) He accepted under the conditions that he be allowed to "sample" the supply, and that the company would pay for long-time residence aboard the train. Both conditions were already in the contract that Crux didn't fully read, but the management thought it best to not mention that. And with that out of the way, we begin. Author's Note "We begin" on the next chapter.
Nightmare(Night) Fuel: Part 1 of 2Crux thought his scarf was nice. Laid out flat, half of it was a light grey, the other half was a dark grey, and a thin maroon line bisected the two. It didn't complement his auburn feathers quite the way he would have liked it to, but it was comfortable. All in all, he liked it. The dazzling unicorn mare on the other side of the counter seemed to like it too. So much, in fact, that she trailed off into a lecture on different color combinations and material choice concerning the matching of scarves and bodily appearance. Somehow, she managed to criticize every aspect of the single piece of clothing he wore without insulting him, and he wasn't sure how to feel about it. On one talon, a chocolate brown and cream white scarf WOULD better compliment his feathers. On the other talon, it would mean NOT wearing his favorite scarf. The matter would have to wait for later, though, as time (and bits) were a'wastin'. As part of his contract, Crux was allowed to make himself drinks to keep him up throughout the night. He was, as of the moment, drinking a simple Stalliongrad dark roast brew, free of sugar and cream, as bitter as the pony he procured the beans from. Truly, it was THE blend for rude but necessary interruptions. SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIP "Oh, have I been rambling? You must forgive me, darling. I do tend to do that sometimes." Perfect. A combination of blunt-force-trauma-to-the-head, sleep deprivation, and coffee dependence left Crux's short term memory lacking in the department of functionality. Evidently he wasn't the best flier as a child, and his early attempts ended with a lot of minor concussions. Under the circumstances, he had to really try to remember all the little things, especially while working. After some experimenting, he began using a small notepad/sketchbook to log his current cafe orders and menial tasks. He also doodled. Sometimes. As the fashion fanatic was leaving the cafe/train car, Crux was staring at his notepad, genuinely bamboozled at the amount of espresso she had just walked out with. Though, she DID pay extra for it, and then extra extra to keep the actual purchase off the books. Adjusting his shades, he scribbled the transaction notes out of the little pad. Immediately after, he roughly drew out the shape of a mare's head and tried to copy how she had her mane. It was mindbogglingly unique, and he wanted to remember. Midnight was encroaching, and there was a talonful of costumed colts and fillies popping in and out, asking for candy or sweets. When Crux explained that said sweets and candy needed to be purchased, most would just move onto the next train car. The too-cool-to-read-up-on-pony-history griffin was, at the very least, deeply confused by this. At first he thought it was just a small group of friends trying to weasel free goods out of him, but the continued flow of children and repeated requests had put a few dents in his initial assumption. Eventually, a chartreuse pegasus filly dressed up as a lion managed to drag her father over, likely to pay for the chocolate chip muffin she had been oogling. An adult, Crux assumed, meant answers. Maybe. The unicorn stallion sighed while his daughter nudged him forward, a little pouch full of bits levitating into view. "How much for the muffin?" he asked, his eyes darting to the baked good on the shelf before returning to looking into the reflective, soul-consuming blackness of Crux's sunglasses. Crux quickly jotted the order down in his notepad for posterity, not breaking eye contact. To his credit, he wasn't trying to be intimidating, he just thought it was funny. "Four bits for a small, six bits for a large," Crux said in a managerly managerial tone. The stallion glanced back at his waiting daughter, who was tapping a forehoof on the floor impatiently. "Busy night?" he probed, wondering if he could glean ANY information about what was going on. He didn't know a lot about pony clothing norms outside of Manehatten, but he was (mostly) sure that children didn't run around in eccentric costumes 24/7. Six little coins levitated across the counter, swiftly swept up by one of Crux's talons while the other talon snagged a large muffin from under the counter. "Oh, you know, Nightmare Night and all," said the stallion as he levitated the large muffin over to his suddenly appreciative and hyper-happy daughter. She immediately dug into it with a gleeful hum, holding it between her forehooves. The action drew a "d'awwww" from everyone in the cafe, except Crux. He was busy being irritated at the lack of useful information. "Nightmare Night" could mean anything!
Nightmare(Night) Fuel: Part 2 of 2The rest of the night was equally as uninformative and twice as quiet. Only two sentient beings capable of interaction occupied the cafe/cabin, and neither seemed interested in sparking a conversation. One was a customer thoroughly involved in a Mocha-Mocha Style mocha (yes, that's the official name, blame the board for approving it) and what looked like sheet music. Crux, distant as ever, was perfectly fine with the silence, sipping the remains of his bitter, lukewarm Stalliongrad roast. How they grew beans up there, he'd never know, but it was good stuff. Eventually, the light brownish grey mare with the darker grey mane (not to mention the cutest and most out of place bowtie Crux had ever seen in his life) was on her way out. The train had stopped, evidently, and more ponies were getting off than on. Crux picked up on this by peeking out one of the windows that were adjacent to the counter. Lots of the little costumed children were rushing out, practically herded by their parents and/or guardians. Yet another reason he was glad to not have tiny half-versions of him running around! He went back to his drink, trying to sip down the last bits of it at the bottom. Truly, the bottom of the cup was the most intimidating to finish, being an unholy mix of a few grounds and the strongest coffee in the cup. The tall avian wasn't looking forward to finishing the bottom of the pot. Since the cafe was presently empty, Crux went about tidying up what he could. A few small spills at a window table, some crumbs from the earlier muffin nomming, miscellaneous candy wrappers from passing colts and fillies. He was busying himself by sweeping up the accumulated wrappers, amazed at how many there were. Just by looking, it didn't SEEM like a lot, but, damn. "Really, they don't have the decency to use literally any of the wastebins around the cabin? A bunch of tiny savages, the lot of them!" Crux halfheartedly muttered to himself. He wasn't really upset, what with kids being kids and all, but he still had the right to complain about it. He finished up his little maintenance run and hopped back over the counter, where he proceeded to wait for something to happen. ... Alright, nothing was happening, this was nice. He could doodle now. Yes. No one would interrupt. It's late. All the ponies are out harassing other people for candy. No one's going to just barge in and- "BEHOLD!" Anything else said beyond that was lost to the depths of space and time as an unholy ringing deafened all other sound. That single shout took Crux's eardrums and pounded on them like they were the set of some novice drummer on a sugar high. His pencil tip snapped mid-drawing and he dug a trench through several pages of his small, delicate notebook. Damn. He pushed his shades back up, sighed, and looked up to his newest, and definitely loudest, customer. O' shit. Princess Luna. From all the shaking glass and the deep, sensational vibrating he felt thrumming in his chest, he surmised that she was making heavy use of the Royal Canterlot Voice. Alas, he heard only ringing. He had been briefed about this happening very shortly before he came, and really didn't expect this to happen, much like the board didn't. After a few seconds, the Princess eventually recognized the pained look of incomprehension scrawled onto Crux's birdy face and stopped talking, her expression rapidly going from "behold my royal majesty" to "oh gosh oh geez I stepped on a flower". Or something. A few minutes passed before either of them did, or said, anything (aside from a few dozen unheard apologies on Luna's end.) By then, Crux could mostly hear in one ear, so, he figured he'd be able to take her order. Maybe. "So, ah...you. What can I get ya?" He flipped to an undamaged page in his notebook and grabbed a fresh pencil from under the counter. He figured he'd just roll with the punch, pretend like what just happened didn't just happen. Luna seemed to agree. "We would like a tall, non-fat latte with caramel drizzle." She was quick to order, likely having thought this through beforehand. Crux didn't even flinch at the royal "we". Scribble scribble. Scribble. "Oh, and, ah...Four shots of espresso." Scribble. Crux tapped the eraser of his pencil against his beak. "Anything else?" Luna glanced over her shoulder at the door. Crux's gaze followed, though he didn't move his head. Sunglasses. Good for looking elsewhere when everyone else thinks your attention is still set on them. Outside were two of Luna's guards, making motions with their hooves and mouthing something. Crux didn't know why they hadn't just...been inside to order for themselves, but he wasn't paid to ask questions and he honestly didn't want the answers. When the guards seemed to be finished, both turning back around and disappearing from the train car's tiny door windows, Luna looked back to Crux, looking...well, Crux thought she looked a mix between confused and conflicted. Her brows were furrowed, mouth closed and drawn back, ears flattened longitudinally, etc. etc. He just waited for her to speak, pencil at the ready. "Perhaps just..." Seven second pause. Squinting. Dead silence. "...two Midnight Mochas?" Scribble scribble. "Anything else?" Luna looked back at the door. No one was currently presen- Whomp, nevermind, the large face of a pale unicorn with a translucent rainbow mane was- Nope, just focus on the order, don't think about how two of Equestria's primary leaders are literally- not helping not helping nothelpingjusttaketheorderdamnit. Crux turned his attention solely to his notepad as Celestia traced the outline of an isosceles triangle in the glass with her forehooves. Luna rolled her eyes and sighed. "A small, and we sincerely mean this, small slice of vanilla cheesecake. That will be all. Thank you for waiting that out." Scribble scrabble. Crux nodded in response after looking over the page to summarize everything, promptly getting to his work, preparing...well, everything on the order, duh. Roughly seven, maybe eight, minutes later, three hot drinks had been prepared and a slice of cheesecake sat comfortably on its side in a little takeaway box. Bits were exchanged, Luna thanked Crux for his time, and she left with her purchases. Crux drew a little crescent moon, and some stars, on the upper left corner of the written order. He almost smiled. Author's Note I'm happy with this.
Sad Person Discount: Pt. 1It was another slow night, as per usual during the non-holiday seasons, and Crux was once more destroying his stomach lining- er I mean, drinking another cup of coffee. He wasn't sure who worked the day shifts, but he doubted they drank as much as he did (coffee or alcohol, take your pick.) Barring the equipment behind the counter with him, his sipping was contending with the ticking minimalist clock on the other side of the room for "loudest sound". Business was slow, as per usual. Hm. There he went again, using that "as per usual" phrase in his head to describe the crushing loneliness of his working environment. He wasn't sure if he liked this over the hustle and bustle from the city. Sure, it was fun then, and there were more, you know, people; but here he was getting free drink access 24/7, so, if you really think about it- His caffeine-addled thoughts were interrupted when the little bell set atop the "front" door of the train car was smacked viciously by its door. He flinched, sending a whollop of coffee flinging from his mug and into the air, which he promptly caught by moving the mug over by an inch or two. Saved himself the trouble of bending down and wiping it up. Back to the door, it was now closing painfully slow, making a pitched creaking sound. It was being kept open by a slight breeze that somehow got through the flexible barrier that had been established between the cafe car and the passenger car in front of it, sending a little chill down Crux's spine as it (the breeze, not the door) blew by. He sipped his drink thoughtfully, looking over the newcomer. Mare, early adulthood, terracotta/deep brown color palette, naturally frowny, curly hair, stumbly steppings, aura of sad, etc. He adjusted his sunglasses while the door closed fully and she ambled over to the counter. Crux set his drink down and picked up his notebook. Job time. Fresh pencil was brought to bear on old paper and he straightened himself up. "Long night?" he asked sympathetically, skipping the standard "nice greeting" and jumping right to the "bartender" barista mode. He didn't expect her to smack her face onto the counter. She did, and she groaned too. Her hair looked like spilled spaghetti on the counter top. Sort of. It was the only analogy Crux could come up with on such short notice. "Ooooohhh you have nooooo idea!.." she exclaimed, somewhat sarcastically, with a little laugh that turned into a sob, her face still right on the counter. She snapped back up with a wobble and sniffed hard, her eyes a little more red than they were when she walked it. He gently nudged a tissue box over toward her. It had been sitting unused behind the register for some time- the locals at every stop never seemed to need it, either having their own tissues or by just not having runny noses while out getting coffee -and so he figured it'd be a good idea to offer it. It didn't work out so well. Upon seeing the tissues, her restrained snivels and sniffles only got worse and she looked just about ready to collapse in on herself. A moment before he could slowly pull the box back, she nabbed a few tissues, and upon reconsidering, took the entire box. After some fumbling, lots of nose-blowing, and a good deal of awkward drink sippage on Crux's part, she seemed to have settled. She also managed to murder an entire box of tissues and completely fill one of the wastebins, but that was fine. Totally fine. "So," he began, tapping the eraser end of his pencil against his pad. "Need some time, or are you ready to order now?" He tried to make his voice a little less punctual and a little more, well, soft? Nice? He wasn't sure what he was trying to sound like, or what he actually came across as. This wasn't a situation he had to deal with often, so, unprepared was he. She took a second or two (Crux wasn't counting, time passed reeeeaaalll slow at this hour) to think, eyes briefly skimming the menu, like she was unfamiliar with all the tacky names. Crux personally just called all the drinks by what they actually were, but policy (as well as menu familiarity) demanded he learn all the brand names too. It was often confusing for folks who weren't familiar with the corporate vocabulary. "Uhg...Uh, I dunno- Anything'll do, as long as it's sweet and caffeinated." "Mmmhm. That it?" Scribble scribble. Scribble. Maybe a mocha? Caramel latte? She squinted at the menu, sniffling again and looking for...something. "Maybe a cookie? Ah, chocolate chip?" Scribble scribble. A look of questioning. A returned shrug. "Alright, that brings your total to-" He glanced up at her again, saw the momentary panic on her face, and decided to be a decent birb. It was late. She looked like she'd been dragged through hell. Why not? "-none, because it's on the house." Panic turned to confusion, then accepting resignation. "Might I ask why?" "Sad person discount." "Riiight." "No, seriously, it's policy. 'If the customer is looking mean, give them the holy bean.' Never heard that before?" For clarity's sake, Crux noticed that the mare didn't have anything with her. No carrying bags or pockets usually meant no little bag full o' bits. No bits, no money. No money, no official transaction. "Wha-" "Kidding, kidding. I'm kidding." A pause. "Mostly." Author's Note So! I've decided to stick with chopping up my chapters into smaller bits and pieces to make the whole process a little easier on myself. Stuff's been busy, and I've been trying to make more time for writing, but it's still hard, and if you write then you probably already know all this- Point is, here's this for now, hopefully the rest will come quicker!
Sad Person Discount: Part 2"So, if I have this correctly-" Crux said while mixing a cup of chocolate milk, "-you got kicked out of your old apartment, and have found a new one with some friends. But your new landlord doesn't like you so you have to change a crap ton of stuff about you or you'll be kicked out again?" The two had been talking for a few minutes, and the mare had been especially vague and skippy while describing her situation. She didn't seem too keen on sharing more detail, and Crux knew not to press for more. She'd tell if she wanted to tell. Maybe. Didn't always work like that but still, he didn't know her outside of being a first-time customer, so, he wasn't going to make any assumptions that might lead to conflict. "More or less that, yeah, kind of," she replied, tapping a rear hood idly while she sipped on the warm, caffeinated beverage between her forehooves. She was seated at one of the bar stools in front of the far counter and Crux was just sitting back on his haunches. "That's not all of it, of course, but you'd just say I'm crazy if I told you everything." She drooped a bit, despite her tone having an acidic bite to it. Of course, that lingering bitterness she spoke with likely wasn't directed at him, so Crux did all he could to ignore it, keeping his composition, uh, composed. "Bah, you don't need to tell me everything. Didn't need to tell me any of it, really. I'm just some bird behind a counter serving drinks and assorted food items to night owls stricken with the munchies," Crux mused before he tipped his cup back and sent a cascading waterfall of calcium-rich chocolaty goodness into his beak and subsequently down his gullet. He hadn't made much, and was done half of it in one sip. The mare sighed, gingerly nudging her mug to the side before whumping her chin down in her hooves on the counter top. "Still, it felt good to talk about with someo- somepony...else. You know? Somepony you don't have to worry about ever seeing again?" she asked/blurted, wincing afterward. Harsh, but fair. He assumed (ha, hypocrite) that she was on the verge of an apology for sounding mean and cut in just after she finished speaking. "Yeah, I understand that well enough. Plenty of folk come in and just vent. I end up forgetting most of it, not intentionally, so it's fine." He shrugged and took another swig of his milk, shuddering as it went down. He really shouldn't have been drinking it, but the unpleasant feeling it left in his gut kept him awake. Probably wasn't a very healthy habit, but still, overdosing on caffeine would probably be worse. After that it was mostly idle chatter. Talk about the smoothness of the train ride, how Crux kept all his stuff in place when the train went on slopes, what it was like working the "graveyard shift", and so forth. Eventually the mare ran out of coffee and Crux wasn't going to break any more policy, so the two said their goodbyes and left each other at a nice, neutral standing. The ringing of the traincar door's bell was the loudest thing Crux heard until his shift was over, when it rang again after he cleaned up shop for the morning shift. He didn't technically have to, but he had noticed that whoever ran the day shift swept up and kept things tidy before his shift, so, the least he could do was return the favor. Author's Note Me fingers ache, arrg.
A Very Warm, Dark, and Gentle DrinkCrux's request to HR for assistance during the Hearthswarming holiday rush was met with a delayed response that consisted of a small, poorly treated cardboard box and a sticky note. What he really needed, and had asked for, was someone to stand around and occasionally take orders in his place while he prepared drinks. He was fairly quick, but swapping between drink-making and order-taking during the occasional rush of departing or boarding customers had thrown him off pace once or twice. He figured his request would probably be granted, maybe, or at the very least denied in a dignified manner. He wasn't sure what to make of what he got. Crux didn't have time to open the box or read the note in the evening. The traveling crowd kept him busy, if just below overwhelmed. Little of note happened, which he was grateful for. Later into the night, when the car/cafe/thing was mostly devoid of other life- a unicorn from the train's decoration department was putting up a rather large painting on the wall across from the counter -Crux figured he had some free time to check out what HR had sent him earlier. Picking up the note, he felt it lightly dusted in something ashy and burnt-smelling. A shake or two got most of the dust off, and he recognized the handwriting as belonging to whoever was behind the Mocha Mocha name. His paychecks had a stamped copy of their signature, and the dark purple calligraphy he was being treated to matched the signature loop for loop. Crux, you amazingly fantastic avian feline! Why did you not write sooner? Thou'st surely knows we taketh the greatest care of our employees! Especially the toilsome few working nightmare shifts! However dost thou stayeth sane, aboard such a maddening vessel of corporate-consumer hell? Don't bother answering, for I already know'st it is because you are aptly suited for thine treacherous role in our journey to stability and economic salvation. It is with that in mind do I recognize that even the grandest champions sometimes require a suitable co-operator, for what is this troublesome trek without befitting companionship? All the best, ~MM "Blegh." He didn't even read it aloud and he still felt gross. Who still writes like this? Well- he could think of a few big-name ponies, but none of them seemed like they had the time to be running a shifty train cafe network. Beyond the terrible writing, the overly dramatic description of what he assumed to be the night shift was off-putting, like there was something he wasn't picking up on, or had yet to experience. Or this was just a company joke to make the night workers paranoid. He figured he'd start worrying about batshit crazy things when they started happening, rather than before. Returning his eyes to the note, he found a P.S. Oh, and despite the item name and description, don't actually try to wash your hooves- or talons -with this. Also, don't get it wet. And please, in the name of all things jolly and warm, do not eat this. Not that you would, but just in case, know that this thing will literally go right through you. Like, right through. Instant stomach pump. Don't even lick it. Trust me. Do not lick the stone. Well, that built up a good deal of interest. Sort of. Crux set the note on the counter, wiped his digits off on his apron, and opened the box with a claw. Inside was a pale rock, wrapped in a dirtied scrap of fabric. It was about as long as his hand, and roughly the width of one of the smaller mugs he had on a secured rack behind the counter. One of the ends outside the wrapping looked like it had been scraped and smoothed, while the other just looked like your average chunk of faintly glowing stone. He gently set it on the counter, stuck a note to it warning customers not to lick it, and stared at it in contemplation. How exactly did this help? Was it one of those stress relief things? Was he supposed to talk to the rock about his feelings? Throw it at annoying customers? Squeeze it passive aggressively? His attention was yanked back to things that actually mattered when an interesting duo entered the car. Coming through the door was a tall, regal unicorn who was, well, very red. Her mane, a dark cherry red, contrasted her bright, eye-snaring coat. She wore a fittingly reddish-brown overcoat, and had black winter boots on her hooves. Seated on her withers- oh, and for the reader's sense of scale, she bumped her forehead on the doorframe before entering. Anyway -was a compact little unicorn whose eyes were concealed beneath a mane worthy of a kirin. The only things immediately indicating he wasn't a child were the long, stabby horn and the mane-colored tufts of a goatee. His coat was a pale grey and his mane (and 'facial hair') was(were) a charcoal black. He was fairly underdressed in comparison to the red mare, only sporting a maroon bowtie and woolen slipper-socks. "Comfy", thought Crux, kind of wishing he had slippers at work. He'd have to remember to get a pair to match the work uniform. Maybe some tipless gloves too- The ordering went without issue, though the two would giggle often, nuzzling and poking noses. Crux felt a little fuzzy inside watching their sporadic, lovey-dovey antics, and he did his best not to think too hard on a literal interpretation of feeling fuzzy on the inside. He shuddered, having failed immediately, and went to work making their drinks. Lucky for him, they both just ordered the stuff from the pots, so they had their beverages in well under a minute. He went back to pondering the use of the stone while the two settled themselves at a corner booth, the pale stallion cozily snuggled in the tall mare's lap. And the night moved on, quietly. Author's Note I'm aliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiive
The Management Just Doesn't Know What Went WrongMany things go bump in the night. Werewolves, ghosts, the tree branch against your window, college papers, deadlines, taxes, train wheels, sky carriage turbulence, eldritch alicorns from the moon, etc. For the single barista stuffed into the "night shift" at Mocha Mocha's, all of the aforementioned bumppenings (and more) have applied. Baristas in the night shift never stayed long on account of all the weirdness. "Too boring," some would say. "Not boring enough," others would say. "It nearly ate me!" more than a few would write in their transfer requests and resignation forms. When the management finally decided to look into the various sources of all the complaints, normal and odd alike, they decided to find a cost-effective solution within company boundaries: hire somepony tough! It didn't work! After the next dozen resignations over the course of several weeks, management revisited the issue. After some consideration, it was decided to suggest the position to a longtime company veteran from inner-city Manehatten, a slender griffin going by the name Crux (slender as in tall and lanky, not Slenderman. Just needed to clear that up.) He accepted under the conditions that he be allowed to "sample" the supply, and that the company would pay for long-time residence aboard the train. Both conditions were already in the contract that Crux didn't fully read, but the management thought it best to not mention that. And with that out of the way, we begin. Author's Note "We begin" on the next chapter.
