MF1.0 - 48 - Coffee

Stef stared at the back of Curt’s head and wondered if she’d be lucky enough to shoot him in the place that would make it explode. Solst-ass scum. You are fully aware that you’re psychotic, right? Fine, won’t shoot him till I have proof. Good girl, here, have some endorphins. ‘Hurry up newb!’ he called as the light flicked from the green-walk-man to the flashing-hurry-the-hell-up-man. He stopped and waited for her to catch up. ‘I know what you’re doing.’ ‘I’m dawdling,’ she muttered. ‘No,’ he said as he turned. ‘You’re making a mistake.’ ‘English doesn’t appear to be your strong communication suit, so try binary?’ ‘You’re looking for…well, for things you didn’t know existed twelve hours ago, right?’ ‘More like thirty-six.’ ‘Knowing this stuff doesn’t lift some sort of curtain off the world, then every other barista has purple skin and half of the businessmen are actually spirits. There are plenty of non-humans walking amongst us, but most of the time, they’re really hard to spot.’ ‘Oh hell no,’ she said as Curt entered a shop. ‘No.’ ‘What’s wrong newb?’ ‘This place is an affront to the purity of coffee.’ She looked up at the sign. ‘And it’s named after a Battlestar Galactica character. I never liked that show. Even if it did have Ben Cartwright in it.’ ‘It’s just Starbucks, now stop making a scene.’ He walked into the stop, she stared at the pavement. The pavement was good, it was safe, it was normal, it didn’t use Italian sizing and strange flavourings. However…the smell of what remained of the coffee’s purity was too much to resist. A girl with auburn hair brushed past her, carrying some sort of iced concoction. ‘Hey,’ she said to the girl. ‘Is that good?’ The girl stopped and turned back to her, a confused expression on her face. ‘Drink. Icy thing. Fray-pay. Is it any good?’ ‘Ah. Frappe,’ the girl corrected. ‘It’s quite good. Not this combination though. Orange and raspberry do not mix well with peppermint.’ ‘Thanks,’ she said. The girl gave her a nod, then walked away. ‘Newb!’ Curt stood at the register. ‘What do you want?’ She looked to the girl behind the counter. ‘I’d like a…just a mocha please. The big size. Large. Lots of chocolate.’ Curt translated this into barista-speak and the girl nodded. A few minutes later they had their drinks. She stared at hers like it might explode. She hoped it would explode. Curt sipped at his concoction. ‘It’s not evil.’ She stared at the mocha. ‘Everything is evil, nothing is innocent.’ ‘Does it get tiring being you?’ ‘Humans tire me out.’ ‘“Humans”?’ he echoed. ‘You talk like you’re not one of us.’ She took an experimental sip. ‘Just because I didn’t know what “dancer” meant doesn’t mean I’m entirely normal.’ It was true, not in the way he thought, but it was true. It certainly perked his interest. ‘Parents? Grandparents? Something happen to you?’ ‘Mysteries remain that way for a reason. Don’t you want there to be a little mystery in life?’ He shook his head. ‘No. I lived with mystery for too long. I like things to be simple and clear. Knowing this stuff…it messes up your world view for a while, you don’t know who to trust and who not to trust, who’s on your side and who is only playing the part. One simple opinion can break couples apart. Destroy lives.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s better to have an opinion than be a sheep.’ ‘People shouldn’t die because of opinions.’ ‘No. No one should die because of a wrong opinion.’ ‘Truth is subjective.’ ‘No,’ she said as she pushed the cup around with a single finger. ‘It’s really not.’