Fillydelphia, Equestria | Hoofborn Brew, A Coffee Shop Across The Street From His Personal Hell

"You are too good to me." He sighs wistfully as she rounds the counter, approaching with his tray.

"Marcus, please -- It's just coffee!" Lavender Springs tries to retort his compliments with laughter, waving him away with a manicured hoof.

"I really ought to take you away from all this, and treat you as you deserve, you angel in disguise." He continues, catching and tenderly holding her raised limb. He'd even kiss it with what she does for him.

"You're buttering me up more than your bagel, Marcus. Hush up and eat, will you? I can't be blushing while I take orders, and it's not going to stop until that mouth of yours has done so too!" She digresses, setting his plate down in front of him, the light-purple wisp tinging the air around it dissipating at plate meets table.

"Life would not be worth living without you, Lavvy." He relents, turning his attention to his meal, though his eyes still yet wish to linger. It may yet be a simple creation, but it means the world to him.

"Snnrrk--Lavvy." She snorts, rolling her eyes as she trots back behind the counter. While she might ham up her reactions, the way she keeps glancing at him tells him she doesn't mind.

Even as Marcus finally relents and digs into the delectbable, simple dish that she's brought forth to him, his eyes can hardly leave her. Nor hers to his, glancing his way even as she leans against the counter again, a customer pony stepping forward, tapping their chin and humming as they try to decide.

Gods, Alicorns, Spirits or whatever floats your fucking boat, look at her. Like an angel given blue-furred form, here to bless his miserable day with a caffeinated ambrosia. It was the only thing that spared him from the considerations of throwing himself off the highest building in the city.

Marcus came from a prestigious line of French culinary chefs. A real thoroughbred, a chef like his foremothers and forefathers. His entire family only knew cooking, at a supreme and absolute quality. Gourmet. Prestige. So, obviously, Marcus would follow in their footsteps. And he did, attending some seriously top-brow schooling and courses, facing apprenticeship under harsh tutors, and striving through the adversity to arise an equal among his ancestors.

But ambition would not stop him there. When Equestria and Earth found enough of a common pathway, the idea of astounding an alien world with the culinary delights of Earth sung to him. He was one of the first to spring on a recently-established work program that would interchange Humans to Equus, and Ponies to Earth, to supply the job force and step towards creating natural immigration. While he had to move from France, this would hardly prove an obstacle for one of his determination. Of course, Marcus swept himself into a spot without any issue, securing a career that would launch himself forward into the annals of history. One of the first interplanetary chefs, ready to wow the pony with Earthen dishes, and curate new ones borne of Equine ingredients.

There was only one singular, small, insignificant hurdle that had the very slight effect of catastrophically sending his health, life and mental state utterly spiraling into the proverbial shitter.

Marcus had expected to be hired on as a personal chef. After all, a world where royalty and nobility still exists, where yet even magical creatures stood above even them? It was an absolute assurance he would land himself in the highest echelon, the top of the top. He had so much confidence in this, that he spent every penny to his name investing into this future. And where did he wind up getting hired, with a lifetime of investment?

Hayburger.

Wearing an apron. Holding a spatula. Standing in the back of a fast-food kitchen. Listening to a teenage pony with a squeaky voice explain to him how to make a 'burger' out of a processed hay-patty, while deep-frying potatoes slices, all sprinkled with an even more egregious amount of salt than anything he'd seen back on Earth.

He was a fucking frycook. It didn't even make sense.

It's hay. It's not even a meat-patty, it's just their usual meals dressed up to feel like a disassociated fast-food experience. They have regular restaurants, even fancy places. He listed EVERYTHING in his resume and left absolutely nothing out, yet he wound up here of all places. He was expecting some lucrative position in Canterlot, not working out the back of some greasy highschool-job smack in the middle of some rip-off of Philadelphia. Marcus can't even get out of it, the contract that he signed to even get over to Equus on this program locking him to this job for another five years.

Five years of this demeaning, gut-wrenching work.

His ambitions dashed, his goals crushed, dreams smashed, Marcus was at risk of absolutely spiraling into an absolute descent of depression. Only one thing kept him from spinning out of control as his entire life shifted for the worse.

A little coffee-shop directly across the street that he found in his fervent, dissociative lunch-break wandering in the area, unable to spend another moment behind those stoves than he had to. The coffee wasn't anything special. The food was everything you'd expect from a place like it.

But thanks to a single, beautiful soul, it became his beacon of hope in this grim, miserable city that harrowed against his very being. He sighs, watching her work so dutifully at her station. He'd been swept away by her when she first approached him, sweeping him out of his funk. A beacon of optimism and the most enrapturing laughter that felt like his very soul was lifting away. How could he not visit each day, the way she smiles, the way she looks at him.

He sighs wistfully, half a bagel in hand, watching her as she works.

Truly, an angel.

...

The Hayburger, quiet in the late night as it prepares to close, hosts only a pair of souls in the back. The silence is broken by one of it's constant arguments, as creative differences are confronted. Mostly between the fry cook, Marcus, and the manager, Periwinkle Posture.

"Marcus, we can't order gold flakes. Or caviar. What even is caviar?" Periwinkle blinks slowly, looking up from the list that he was handed.

"Then get me a shredder, and a handful of bits, and I'll make it myself!" He objects, rummaging through one of the drawers.

"We're not putting bits in the burgers, Marcus. That's not hygienic, no matter how fancy it is. And what's caviar?" Periwinkle taps the list, still confused.

"This place is mundane! There's no exploration, no trying, no experimentation!" Marcus throws his arms up, frustrated.

"Of course not, Marcus. We're a Hayburger. Ponies come here for Hayburgers. Seriously, though, what is caviar?!" Periwinkle's tone raises as Marcus' does, still just entirely confused. Marcus does this now and then, and while he's good enough at making the food, his little outbursts had gotten old weeks ago.

"It's --" Marcus spins around, pointing a spatula, right as the door opens, distracting them both.

The door jingles open. Marcus' eye-roll is stopped partway as he recognizes the figure that steps through the front doors.

"Apologies, Ma'am, but we're about to -" Periwinkle starts, but Marcus slips right past him.

"Lavvy!" Marcus tosses his spatula aside, nearly leaping the counter to meet her. "An angelic vision has come to greet me!"

"Ah. Her." Perwinkle tsks, shaking his head.

"Oh, stop it, Marcus. You ready to go?" Lavender laughs, shifting the saddlebag slung over her back, still in her uniform.

"Of course." He states simply, tugging a string on his apron. In a deft pull, it slips right off him, getting folded around his arm.

"Marcus, have you cleaned--" Perwinkle goes to call out, but the answer already flies back.

"Obviously! Goodnight, Periwinkle. We will resume the conversation tomorrow!" Marcus announces, before leaning down to Lavender Springs.
"I would take your hoof in my arm, if it might not be uncomfortable for you. I'm afraid we must settle for me offering to take your bag, and my company. Will that suffice?"

"Yes, yes it will suffice, Marcus. You do this every time. You know it suffices." She scoffs, already turning away.

"Perhaps I simply enjoy hearing your response? Your voice is a song I shall never grow tired of hearing." He continues, unrelenting in his adoration.

"Oh my-- okay." Lavender snorts behind her hoof, opening the door. "I'm going to start walking, so we don't subject your boss to your ballads."

By the time Perwinkle glances out of the back, they're already gone, the door shut. He sighs, wiping a hoof across the counter. Spotless. At least for all his whining, he actually did a decent job. But seriously, what was caviar?

...

"Thanks for walking me home, by way." Lavvy glances up, bumping his leg with her hip. The Fillydelphian streets are quiet, with street-lamps offering candlelit light to guide the late-nighters home, lit only moments earlier by the lamplighters. The city was almost eerily human, odd in that it's streets were only wide enough for pony and wagon, no cars or such to be seen. But truly, Marcus had acclimatized to such an environment. Walking was a good daily exercise for the body.

"As you thank me every time, Lavvy, I'm more than happy to do so." He half-bows, smiling.

"Perhaps I enjoy hearing your voice, Marcus. Have you ever thought of that?" She turns it around on him, raising a brow.

"The thought had never crossed my mind. Truly?" He gasps, exaggerating his reaction only a touch. The hand to his chest really sells it.

"Pff. Seriously though, Marcus. You seem to be doing a lot better recently. How are things at the Hayburger?"

"As dreadful as ever, I'm afraid. My ideas remain spurned, and I find myself trapped for yet another two years. If you were not here to ease my burden... I fear without you, I may have regressed to a primitive mental state long ago." He explains, embellishing with a long-winded sigh, hand to his head.

She barely stifles a laugh at his dramatics, smiling as she looks up at him.
"And what will you do when your two years are up? Go back to Earth?"

"Why ever would you suggest such a course? I'd remain here, of course." He states, as if he didn't decry how terrible the city was at each possible opportunity.

"You really don't like it around here, Marcus. You've made that pretty clear. Why would you stay?" She slows, glancing up at him with confusion.

"True, but I'm certain there is maneuverability in the region. Though not obvious, this city still holds those with a desire for fine dining. Plus, how ever could I leave behind your encapsulating visage? I scoff at the thought." And he does scoff, to further prove the point.

"You can't just stick around a place you don't like just for me, Marcus." She rolls her eyes, though the way she hides her face to veil the blush on her face makes her true belief a little more clear.

"Of course I can. How could I not? You're the best thing to exist within this city, and I'll accept no other opinions on the matter." He proclaims, waving a finger in the air with conniption.
"And what of you? You still yet dream of higher education?"

"College, when I can afford it. Until then, things aren't too bad around here. I have you to thank for that, I suppose. My mornings are a lot cheerier when you're barging in to wish me a good day." She admits, humming softly as she looks up at him.

"I'll gladly host you, as I've offered before. You know I've got far more Bits then I need at this point." Marcus adds, but Lavender declines with another pointed, but amused laugh.

"Yes, you've told me how your program showers you in far more than you need, but I'm alright. If you insist, I'll remain content with those treats you bring me every odd day."

"Very well... but the offer is always standing." He assures, the pair sharing a warm smile as they reach the outside of a small above, nestled along a few others to form a little mid-city suburb block. Lavender Spring's home, and their stop for the late evening. It's a cute place, afforded through hard work and a mixture of well-timed looking that matches her optimistic ideals, with how batches of flowers pepper any open step. Admittedly, a few are missing some with some suspiciously bite-shaped marks, but such is the risk you run when you grow flowers within reach of the sidewalk.

"So..." Lavender slows, pausing by her door.

"I wish you--" Marcus goes to flourish, but a loud cough interrupts him.

"...Coming in for a quick cup before you go? I can't have you getting cold on your way home." She offers, her eyes betraying the true meaning of her statement.

"Absolutely." Marcus immediately folds, Lavender smiling as she leads him inside.

Author's Note

Quick one today, taking it easy as week 2 swings in