ardenhampton:
It was just another ordinary day for Arden; leaning against the counter, she eyed her surroundings, watching the small bustle of customers who had gathered in the coffee shop awhile earlier finally clean off their tables and abandon their cups in the tub beside the door. The early afternoon was generally pretty sparse throughout the week, especially whenever there were larger coffee shop chains throughout Las Vegas that might’ve had better prices - but definitely not better coffee. Pushing herself up from the counter, she grabbed her rag and spray bottle as she made her way around the small sitting area of the shop. It was a pretty easy gig, one that she felt lucky to score due to its close proximity to her apartment and the good hours she got in the morning whenever she wasn’t working at Strobe. The money wasn’t amazing, sure, but she enjoyed the small atmosphere that allowed her a break from the hustle and bustle of Las Vegas. As the bell over the door chimed and signaled the entrance of another patron into the coffee shop, Arden tucked the rag into her apron and made her way around the counter, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear before she offered a smile to the customer. “Hi, there. What can I get you?”
H.T. was not a coffee person - he had never developed a taste for the stuff, and the one time he’d tried it, it had been at one of his foster families who seemed to have the oldest coffee-maker ever. It had made the whole house smell like burnt coffee beans whenever it made a batch, and the one time H.T. had tried it, he’d not enjoyed it one bit, so when he wandered it into the coffee shop that late morning, he had a very specific agenda.
“Morning,” he said, shooting (what he hoped was) a charming grin to the barista behind the counter. “So, I have a problem, and I think you’re just the person to help me with it. I’ve been told that not liking coffee is practically, like, a crime when you’re a real adult, so I’m here to be converted.”













