I saw a post once about fae type creatures running a cafe and the cares one would need to take as a customer. If I can find the original to correctly credit it, I will edit this post. Sadly, I had only seen it in passing before I created this account. Here is a fun bit of something I’ve put together after the inspiration that post gave me.
On a lovely, bright morning a lone figure leaned stiffly on a half wall. Her shorts scuffed lightly on the wall’s surface, the bricks being mildly weather worn and abrasive. She barely noticed the muted sounds of her scuffed shorts. Despite the warmth of the morning, she felt a chill over her arms that had nothing to do with the short sleeves of her shirt or the warm breeze.
Having walked the same few streets every day for years, the progression of buildings and scenery were well engraved in her mind. If challenged to do so, she would have been able to close her eyes and describe most of her surroundings in full, or at least great, detail. So as she’d been walking to school and found a large cafe where none had been the day before, she had stopped to stare.
It was not as though a formerly empty building had been occupied and a business had opened exceptionally quickly. The entire cafe was a building which had not formerly existed at all. It was almost at the end of the street, where the correct order of buildings was supposed to be a nice apartment building of grey stone and a corner store. Instead, the street was now situated with the apartment building of grey stone, the cheery white store front of a large windowed cafe, and then the corner store.
She had been startled when she’d noticed the extra building. On any other day, if asked, she would have confidently announced that a nice, small, community park was on the other side of the wall she leaned against. But that particular day, she had no idea what was behind her. There was only room in her mind to observe the new building, and to observe that anyone who walked in and out of the apartment building didn’t seem to notice the new building at all. Or, they acted as though it had always been there, disappearing inside to get a cup of coffee or tea on their way to work.
The building itself looked like any other business on the block. Bright white walls, as though newly painted. A large window with small signs hanging to advertise the hours and the menu, a small awning to cast shade on anyone reading the menu from the sidewalk. Numerous potted plants lined the front of the store, more plants inside the cafe could be glimpsed beyond the reflection of sun on the window. A few tables were on the sidewalk, chairs waiting for people to take a seat. The furniture outside was made of sturdy looking wood and appeared hand carved. She imagined the furniture inside would be similar.
The staff she could see, mostly through the window though a few ventured outside anytime someone sat at a table, were all either extremely tall or noticeably short. By her best estimates, the shortest of the tall employees was six foot, the others a range of inches taller. And the tallest of the shorter employees was maybe about five foot tall, the rest of the shorter ones bordering on child-like. There was no in between. And they were all slim, which wasn’t inherently abnormal unless you noticed that they were all slim. Not just fit, but outright void of very many defining curves and features. As though they had all been children that had grown to adulthood without hitting puberty.
The male and female employees were sometimes hard to distinguish from one another, everyone possessing similar hair cuts and facial features that bordered on androgynous. Like they were all siblings and cousins, their family lacking any new traits for a few generations until they all bore the same nose, the same chin. The matching work uniforms of black pants, grey shirts, and black, full bodied aprons only made it more difficult to tell them apart.
Never having skipped school before, she stared at the cafe and wondered what was so compelling about the place to stand there and stare. Of course, other than its sudden appearance. That was, she felt, a rather obvious reason. But aside from that, she couldn’t figure out why she’d neglected to continue on her way. A few others on the street had stopped and stared as she had. But unlike herself, they had all spared but a few seconds before shaking their heads and walking away as though in a daze. One person had even been on the phone, and she’d managed to overhear them say, “I thought I smelled coffee,” before walking away in confusion.
The hairs on her arms and neck prickled, prompting her to look around. There, in the large window, a friendly face looking outside. Towards her. Whoever it was waved and before she knew what was happening, she found herself waving back. Mid motion, she froze and stared at her hand wondering how it had gotten in the air. She had not intended to wave back. And yet, she had.
When her gaze finally left her hand and returned to the cafe, she was surprised to see the same person stepping out the front door, where they casually leaned against the frame. Her hand lowered slowly back to her side, at the same time the employee (as she could then see the uniform they wore) made a waving motion for her to cross the street. Her eyebrows shot up at the invitation, but as with her hand, she found her feet moving forward. Almost as though she had been summoned and not simply invited. There was barely the idea to look both ways for traffic.
Safely across the street, she stopped suddenly while perching just on the curb. What if they were waving to someone else? She nervously looked over each of her shoulders, scanning the sidewalk to either side both beside her and across the street where she had been. There was no one, and when she looked back towards the employee she saw them smiling as though they were amused, waving with one hand to make the same ‘come here’ motion again.
This was one of the tall ones. As she drew closer to them, she felt her vision swimming slightly at the edges. It was a very similar feeling to when she stood up too quickly and she got lightheaded for a few seconds. From across the street, she had observed them possessing the same androgynous features as the others. But now, up close, she could quite clearly see that he didn’t have blondish-brown hair at all. His hair was black, the thick wavy locks hugging tightly to his head and sticking out around his ears, as though he didn’t know what a comb was.
Nor did he seem to possess the same slim frame anymore. He was still on the lean side, but his shoulders were wider than his hips. Something she would have sworn, only moments ago, wasn’t how his frame was shaped. He had piercing blue eyes, but if she looked anywhere at his face without direct eye contact, she could have sworn they looked more lavender.
A passerby on the street cut her off and ducked between the two of them to get inside the cafe faster. Her sight of him was only lost for a second, but when he came into view again, she had to blink a few extra times. They were still tall, but they also had the same, not-so-unique, features of the other employees. Blondish-brown hair, dull brown eyes, slim frame with no defining curves or facial features.
“Is everything alright, miss?” the employee asked. “I’ve noticed you standing across the street for some time now.” Even their voice seemed void of unique character, and she just knew that all the other employees would probably sound much the same as this one did.
“I, uh...” She trailed off, staring at their face a bit harder. “You had black hair a moment ago,” she blurted out. “I could have sworn you did.”
“Perhaps you’ve been in the morning sun too long,” they offered. “I could get you a glass of water. No charge, of course.”
“No.” She blurted that out more quickly than she had the comment of their hair color. “I mean, thank you. I’m just not very thirsty right now.” The idea of accepting water from this stranger, even though they were working at a cafe, had filled her with dread like nothing she had ever felt before. It sat heavily in her stomach, refusing to budge. It felt very similar to the times she’d overslept for school, forgotten to study for a test, or the time she’d gotten lost as a child and couldn’t find her mother at the mall.
“Are you hungry then? We have a large selection of baked goods. You’re allowed a free sample or two. Perhaps there’s something new to your kind, never sampled before.”
To your kind, a phrase that should have stood out to her. But it did not, because the feeling of dread in her stomach seemed to deepen. Her mind was pulled elsewhere. “No,” she said again, firmly. That time she didn’t even feel the need to apologize. She didn’t feel as though she was being rude at all, but rather, was defending herself. An odd way to feel, she realized.
“If not refreshments of our establishment, why have you lingered so long?” Their question was hard to answer, because she simply didn’t know. Their tone of voice was mild, but there was something in their eyes that came across as accusing, questioning, curious. They stared at her until she felt uncomfortable, and she had to look away.
Her gaze passed over the open doorway. For the first time she realized that, despite seeing plenty of people inside the cafe, she couldn’t hear anything inside. She could see employees talking to customers, handing out samples, bagging purchases. She could see the counter person collecting money and giving change, another answering questions. Happy looking customers sat at tables that matched the hand carved furniture outside. But there was not a single sound to be heard.
“Why is it so quiet?” she asked, her brows furrowing together slightly as she concentrated on finding even a single sound.
“Hmm?” The employee asked, following her gaze. “I hear plenty of noise from inside.” When they looked back at her, and she nervously glanced at them, she thought she noticed a look of confusion on their face. “You truly hear nothing?”
She shook her head.
“Take my hand,” they said, holding theirs out. As with the wave, and crossing the street, she found herself placing her hand in theirs before she could stop herself from doing so. It was like their words were an order, not a request.
Feeling lightheaded again, an array of sound and sights suddenly came to her. Coffee beans passing through a grinder, happy snippets of conversation, chairs scraping on floors, exclamations of surprise over sample tastings, the sound of coins falling to the floor. The employee before her had black hair, blue eyes, and wide shoulders again. He was clearly interested in watching her reaction, his hand firmly holding to hers. She looked away, feeling uncomfortable, only to see the woman working at the counter had skin an alarming shade of grey, the man handing out samples had white hair waving about as though in a breeze. A pair of customers sitting and chatting at a table weren’t actually chatting at all, but rather sitting in silence while staring off into space.
Music played softly inside. It was hauntingly beautiful but terrifying at the same time. The music pulled at her as though it was tempting her to step inside, sit down and listen. There was a promise, like a whisper in the back of her mind, that the music would play for her as long as she liked to sit and listen.
She would have kept staring, would have kept listening to the music, except the one holding her hand asked, “What is your name?”
That feeling of dread in her stomach crawled into her throat. Even if she had wanted to, answering would have been difficult. She pulled her hand away from him, noticing as she did that he seemed to be caught off guard. He made a slight motion to chase after her hand, but then seemed to think better of it.
Turning to leave, having decided she’d had quite enough of the place, she quickly walked towards the curb again. Perhaps she would be late, but there was still time to get to school. She could explain that she’d overslept, or perhaps make an excuse of having needed to help her parents with an errand. If she managed to use the right excuse, there was a slim chance the school wouldn’t call home and her parents would never need to know she’d been late.
However, when she reached the curb, she found that her feet stopped. Her feet stopped so abruptly, in fact, she found herself waving her arms a bit to keep from falling over into the street. When she’d caught her balance, she looked over her shoulder, suddenly concerned that the cafe might be gone.
Still there? she questioned herself. What an odd thought. Though it did just seem to appear out of nowhere. It could disappear.
The cafe was still there, and so was its androgynous employee leaning on the door frame. Everything looked to be as normal as it possibly could, even though the uncomfortable silence had returned. She looked back at the street, looking both aways for traffic, and considered crossing again. But a thought lingered in her mind.
If you leave, you won’t be able to come back. The cafe will be gone.
She did not know how she knew that to be true, but it was for some reason an idea that she believed completely. As sure as she knew that the place had appeared out of nowhere and that it did not belong between the apartment building of grey stone and the corner store.
Looking back over her shoulder, she caught the gaze of the employee leaning on the door. His unique features seemed to blur together with their androgynous ones, as though the figure was both of them at the same time. Pains started at the back of her eyes. The employee shrugged then, and held a hand out to indicate the table closest to the door. An invitation to sit down.
Unlike the other times, there was no compulsion to do as instructed. She looked at the table and continued to think about leaving. Which was the only reason she voluntarily walked towards the table and decided to sit down. It had felt as though she’d been given the choice, and being allowed that choice left her room to be curious.
No sooner was she sitting at the table than the figure at the door disappeared inside. They came back a few minutes later with a small tray in hand. Rather than serving her and leaving, they sat the tray down in the middle of the table and took a seat. She wanted to pay attention to them as they sat, but instead she found herself focusing on the items of the tray.
Two small slices of chocolate cake sat on a pair of plates, covered in what appeared to be vanilla frosting. A small design of red had been piped on top of each slice, which seemed both familiar and foreign to her. She suspected that seeing the entire cake at once would reveal a recognizable design, but the slices themselves didn’t hold enough details to be clear. A small fork rested on each plate, looking brand new and well polished.
A small white teapot with a lovely rose painted on the side sat between two matching tea cups on plain white saucers. Steam rose from the teapot’s spout, making her wonder how she could see the steam at all given that it was not cold enough outside to produce steam.
The employee reached out and began to pour some of the tea into each cup. A beautiful rose colored water came forth. The air began to smell of nutmeg and something floral that she couldn’t quite place to any particular flower. The intention was clear, she was supposed to partake of the tea and cake. Dread began slowly building in her stomach again.
“I wish to offer you refreshments as my guest,” they said after setting the teapot down on the tray again. “Free for you to enjoy, nothing expected in return.”
The feeling of dread remained, but it faded to more of a background feeling. There was something in the way they had said, ‘nothing expected in return’ that had put her a bit more at ease. “Are you sure? I have money, I could pay for them.”
“Please,” they said, raising a hand in the air. “I freely offer these treats, no payment necessary.”
She reached for the teacup closest, and brought it close enough to her face for a better smell. She really wanted to know what the floral scent was, as it seemed so familiar. The teacup appeared to be made of porcelain, but felt much heavier in her hand than she would have thought. Expecting the tea to be hot, she set the cup and its saucer on the table before her, intending to let it cool for a moment. The steam had been warm on her face, hinting that perhaps it was still too hot to consume.
The employee mistook her intentions as hesitation. “Thrice spoken, there are no strings attached to my offer. Please, honor me as guest and partake of the treats I have selected for you.” The way they spoke was weird, she thought, but not wanting to be rude she picked the teacup up again. As she did so, she noticed that the cup suddenly felt much lighter. Or perhaps she had imagined the weight.
Though the tea still steamed, when it passed between her lips on a cautious sip it felt as though it was the perfect drinking temperature. The sip quickly became an eager but polite gulp. Flavor exploded across her tongue, sweet like honey and fresh in a way you only get with freshly picked tea ingredients. Much like the smell, it tasted of nutmeg and something floral that she couldn’t place.
Only after she set her cup back down did they pick up their own and drink. She found herself watching as her company sipped, their appearance hovering somewhere between the two versions she had seen and the stabbing pain behind her eyes picked up again. “Have more tea,” they suggested. “The moonflower will help with the pains you feel while looking at me.”
Had she been drinking she might have choked at the mentioning of the pain. How did this person know? As it were, she only felt her hands threatening to shake a little. They were quickly tucked away into her lap where she could hold them together until she was sure she could reach for her cup without spilling.
“Tell me where you were headed this morning,” he said. He was, though his appearance was still a blur of two types, decidedly more ‘he’ instead of ‘they’ at that point. It seemed an innocent enough attempt at conversation, so when she answered he simply smiled while staring into his teacup. He was actively avoiding her gaze. “Ah, yes. You are of the schooling age. I have learned a bit about the practices of your kind, I thought perhaps you might be young enough to still attend the lessons.”
She quietly drank her tea, and noticed after a few more sips that the pain behind her eyes was indeed lessening, though it didn’t appear to be going away completely. What was even more intriguing was that when she looked across the table, the person across from her was no longer a blurred, double image. He was simply blue eyed, black haired, and wide shouldered as though that was all he had ever been.
Though his ears were suddenly not human shaped in the slightest. They were, quite clearly, long and tapered on the top halves like any sort of fictional elven creature she’d seen in any number of movies, paintings, or fantasy stories. They stretched for several inches and his left ear sported a small, golden ring at the very end. A tiny bell was attached to the ring, no bigger than her pinky nail. His head movements were slow and deliberate most of the time, but occasionally he moved in such a way that the bell gave a tiny jingle.
“You’re...” She tried to say, ‘You’re an elf’ but the words caught in her throat. Like she dared not speak for fear of being wrong, as she had suddenly begun to think she was.
“I am,” he said, with a small smile. “Though I am probably not what you think.”
“Then what are you?”
He mulled the question over, tilting his head to the side as though giving his answer great thought. The little bell on his ear jingled, making small notes that tugged at her chest much like the music had when she’d heard it. It sounded as though it had two pieces inside, capable of making more notes than the average bell. “I... am what your kind will one day call fae. Something between your misconception of a fairy and an elf. And perhaps a bit like...” He trailed off. “I don’t remember the correct word.” He sighed heavily. “Mixing brews, collecting cats, practicing spells, eating children.”
“A witch?” she offered.
“Yes, perhaps. I am something similar to that which you know as a fairy, an elf, and a witch. And then, maybe not like them at all, sometimes.”
“You eat children?” The question came more calmly than she felt.
“Me? Never, not once, not even a taste.”
Not sure what to say, she simply nodded as though it was a natural answer to a natural question. The door to the cafe opened again, a man leaving with bagged treats in hand and powdered sugar clinging to his lips. He was woefully unaware that some of the powdered sugar had fallen to his business suit. As she watched the man leave the shop, passing close behind her company’s chair, she found that once more sounds were coming from inside. More muted than before and lacking any hints of music, but still sounds she could hear.
He grinned wide, his lavender eyes watching her face closely, and leaned slightly across the table as though they were sharing a secret. There was no effort made to hide the curiosity he felt. “You’ve a touch of the Elderlin blood, yes? Or is it the Sight of Veils?”
Teenagers, as Zoey had been reminded of so abruptly, often times lacked tact. Or perhaps Christina had simply thought she was doing her brother a favor, or even looking out for him. It was hard to tell one way or another.
No sooner had the girl dropped the idea that Kit might like Zoey, her phone had rung and she excused herself from the truck to go gossip with some friend or another. She hadn't wondered far from the truck, so Zoey had heard minor snippets; enough to know that the greatest interest at that point to Christina was something that had happened at the mall earlier in the week.
She might have tried to make herself useful with unloading the truck but there hadn't been much point, the guys had figured out a chain effort of some sort, passing the boxes from the truck to each other until they were in the garage. And then Zoey drove the truck alone back to the storage facility for the next load in, where the others were waiting. And after the truck was unloaded again, she was free to return the rented box truck and go home.
Two days later, the little tidbit of potentially accurate information was still floating around in Zoey's head. She had no idea how or why Kit might entertain liking her, seeing as they barely saw each other and she made it a point to avoid conversation when working as much as possible.
Though, she supposed, some guys liked that dynamic. The 'hard to get'.
The phone screen in her lap lit up, and she half expected it to be a message from Kit. They hadn't really messaged each other since that first time, but Zoey sometimes found her life to be oddly on the nose about that. She looked, only found that it was the group chat with her friends.
Chrissy: Drinks at the bar?
Veronica: We're always there on friday. the crowd is feeling stale.
Samantha: how about pizza?
Zoey: Remember when we used to go to the movies all the time?
Veronica: What, when we were like ten? the snacks are so overpriced.
Samantha: I could bring my big bag.
Chrissy: I'm trying to find a date, not sit in the dark and watch other couples makeout.
Veronica: I'm telling you, make that CampFire profile like I told you. Plenty of men on there willing to meet up.
Chrissy: Yeah, to rattle my bones. I want romance Ver.
Zoey tossed her phone to the side and ignored the onslaught of messages as her friends bickered back and forth about what the best hangout would be for the evening. When they finally settled down she chanced a look to see if they had decided on anything. One of them mentioned a new outdoors tapas place that also served drinks, so the idea was for everyone to meet up in about an hour.
Tapas was better than bar food, at least, so Zoey got dressed in something comfortable and met her friends there. They were in the middle of eating and judging the cocktails they'd ordered when Chrissy shushed everyone and said, "Don't look now, but I think there's someone from the gym over there eyeballing one of us. I said don't look!"
"Oh no, he's definitely waving at us," Veronica said. "I don't know him. Who knows him?"
Zoey turned her head and stared in disbelief. Kit, and some men she recognized from two days before, were standing across the street and staring in their direction. They were obviously leaving a gym that she hadn't noticed before, their shirts stained with sweet and sports drinks in hand. Kit beamed at Zoey and waved a bit longer before his friends caught his attention again.
"Wait, that's the guy from work right?" Samantha asked. "The one in the company photo!"
"Yeah, that's him," Zoey admitted, offering a wave across the street when Kit finally looked back in her direction.
"Want to invite him over?" Chrissy asked. "Maybe his friends will join."
"Nah, they're already turning away," Veronica pointed out. "Well, he isn't. But they are."
An entirely too young squire sat in the stable with polish and polishing brush in hand. He had been tasked with maintenance of his knight's riding gear, and was trying to figure out how to go about all of it.
"He's polishing the floor more than that saddle," Ambriel noted.
"Indeed," Tabris agreed. "I tried inspiring him. I tried whispering. Even tried projecting myself. That poor boy is denser than a tree. Pretty sure I spooked the horses, though."
"I have to admit, I'm growing fond of his odd failings. You never see them failing anymore."
Tabris hated to admit it, but he, too, had grown fond of the young boy. Failure or not, with most tasks, his attempted solutions weren't exactly out of the realm of possibility. It was like the boy was thinking outside of the normal realm of imagination for those of his kind.
Even as he attempted to get the polish out of it's container to rub on the saddle, using his hand instead of the brush itself, he focused with a determination to see the task through. The difficult part was just getting all of the polish off his fingers before picking up the brush.
The smell of green apple fragrance filled the air while Zoey, wearing bright yellow rubber gloves, worked her way through a pile of dishes. After the incident in the garage the day before, even though she and Kit had finished their shift in there, their boss Justin had thought it was best to switch them out of the dust filled air just in case. At first Zoey had been grateful because the garage was a mess of squirrel nests and heavy boxes, but five minutes inside had her wishing she could be knee deep in the wood scraps again.
The owner of the house they'd been hired to clean out was an adorable older woman, who's four middle aged children were spread out in various other rooms to help pack up the important stuff to set aside somewhere safer. "My my my," the woman kept saying every few minutes. "I'd nearly forgotten about this!" To which she would show an object to Kit who would take an interest and ask about it. Everytime Kit was distracted, Zoey found herself chancing a glance in his direction and staring at the hat he wore, imagining the hair underneath that she had recently seen and learned was actually rather long.
Zoey understood that something was going on with the woman to contribute to her hoarding. It had sounded as though the passing of her husband when their children were still in high school played a big part of it. But hearing that same phrase over and over again while she stared down at the pile of dishes that never seemed to end had Zoey clenching her jaw tight and staring at the soap suds in the sink as as she rinsed the one hundredth plate.
The dishes left behind were only a fraction of the original mess. The crew in there the day before had boxed and trashed the vast majority of them. The only thing that kept Zoey going was that Kit had to stay close at hand, helping to hand dry and put away the dishes. At one point he gently coaxed the woman, whom he fondly called Mimi at her insistence, to toss all her plastic takeout containers into the recycling can he'd brought in from the side yard.
Kit was so good at keeping Mimi on track and distracted with conversation that Zoey didn't have to participate much. She would occasionally thank Mimi when the woman tried to offer her one of ten beverage options from the fridge or would call for Kit's attention when he didn't notice the dishes waiting for him. She was on the verge of thinking her brain was going to melt with boredom when Zoey heard Mimi ask Kit something interesting.
"Are you dating anyone? Is it serious?" Mimi asked. "My granddaughter, you know the one in college I was telling you about earlier? She's a little younger than you, but mature. Real smart girl, real pretty smile. You two would be so lovely together! You should let me call her over, where's my cell phone?"
Zoey stood up a bit straighter as she realized that Kit's answer was more interesting to her than it should be for someone she couldn't stand no more than twenty four hours before. She stared at the plate in her hand extra hard, watched the suds as they rinsed away and disappeared down the drain.
"I'm sure Jenny is wonderful," Kit said, clearing his throat for a moment and turning his back to Mimi in order to pick up a few plates. He busied himself with putting them away before he followed up with, "It's very nice of you, but I'm not looking for anyone right now."
"Oh," Mimi said with interest. "So you are seeing someone? Tell me all about her, I feel like I've told you so much about my dear, late Richard and I haven't heard anything of your...?" Mimi trailed off in an attempt to prompt Kit into giving her some sort of details.
"I'm not seeing anyone," Kit answer. "Not anymore."
"Oh, a broken heart," Mimi fussed before she distracted herself with her own memories of her teen years, telling Kit stories of dates she went on in high school. In between remembered moments she asked Kit if chocolate would make him feel better while turning to her pantry and remarking, "I know there's a few boxes in here... Samples are the best way to go, you know. A little taste of everything."
Zoey glanced over her shoulder to see what Kit was doing only to find him standing closer to her than she realized. He stood there, quietly drying some glasses, and looked much happier than she might have expected. After the internet snooping she'd done the night before, as best as she could tell, he hadn't really been single all that long. And it had looked like his ex had been around for a long time.
"Life is a journey and all we can do is enjoy it," Kit beamed when Mimi paused long enough during her stories. "Smile because it happened, not because it's over. Am I right?" The cheeriness in his voice reminded Zoey, once again, that he was a very different person from herself. The last time she'd been in a breakup situation she had nearly eaten her own weight in ice cream and Krispy Kreme donuts. But Kit was bouncing around the kitchen like he was a delighted little grandchild visiting grandma for a holiday.
Mimi's cellphone began to vibrate on the table and she gasped with obvious glee. "Oh my, her ears must have been ringing! Jenny dear, is that you? Do a video call, there's someone I want you to meet!"
Zoey knew immediately what it was that Mimi was hoping to do and she felt a mixture of amusement and sudden jealousy. After a few protests Jenny relented to a video call while complaining that her hair was a mess, though Zoey doubted that it was. "Meet this wonderful man, Christopher," Mimi said as soon as the video was active. "Isn't he handsome? He's single, too!"
"Grandma!" Jenny exclaimed. "I'm so sorry, my grandmother is just trying to be nice. Mom! Mom can you hear me? Grandma is objectifying people again! Mom? Moooom!"
"What's all this?" The woman who joined them in the kitchen could only be Jenny's mother, Zoey assumed, as she looked over at the small crowd forming. Kit stood behind Mimi with a big, goofy smile on his face while he waved at the video that Mimi was hoisting up for all to see. "Mom, stop pestering Jenny! She had finals to study for." Sheryl poked her head through the doorway behind them all, curious what all the noise was about but kept her distance as a curious bystander.
"Oh, relax Sarah. I just want to make sure Jenny remembers to have fun! Christopher has been so polite today, I'm sure he'd take her on a proper date."
"Mom," Sarah protested, though she laughed a little. "You're supposed to be clearing out the cabinets. I'm sure Jenny can find her own dates."
"Oh," Mimi exclaimed. "I almost forgot to ask. Are you actually gay Jenny? You know your brother just informed me last week that he's gay. They say that kind of thing runs in the family. Zoey over here at the sink is cute, too! She's a hard worker, I bet she could help you study."
Zoey found a phone being shoved in her face all of a sudden, catching her off guard. She wasn't sure if she should be flattered that Mimi had called her cute, or curious what it was about her that made Mimi think she was both single and into women. "Uh," Zoey said, seeing a frazzled girl sitting on her dorm bed with her hand over her face and the sounds of other girls in the background giggling. "I'm not into girls, but good luck with your studying!"
The phone was out of her face just as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Zoey wondering when exactly a cleaning job had turned into speed dating. As Sarah wrangled the phone away from Mimi, Kit leaned on the counter next to Zoey and took a plate directly from her rather than the stack she'd been building. "They're adorable," he said, watching them. "It must be nice to a grandmother. Do you think she has those cute little aprons anywhere? I'd wear a cute little apron."
Kit, with his legs slightly spread and arms crossed over his chest, stared as though he was deep in thought. Zoey, a clipboard in hand and a pen clenched in her teeth, flipped through papers looking for the security code for the panel on the left side of the two car garage before them. Their boss paired them together anytime he could get away with it because he thought they were an 'opposites attract' kind of duo. Luckily for Zoey, her schedule didn't line up with Kit's very often.
"I bet it's mostly newspapers," he mused. "Maybe magazines. Old kids toys. What do you think?"
Working with Kit was always a test of her patience. He was strong enough to power through the heavier lifting that she struggled with and more than willing to do it. He liked to joke that it saved him from a visit to the gym. But he also had a habit of getting distracted with the things they found and didn't always work through in a coordinated method. Like a child with wonder lust, Kit wanted to know the story of every object. And that made him slow at times.
She hadn't known how to describe him at first when talking about work with friends. One of them pointed out that he seemed like the perfect example of a 'himbo'. After that her single friends started asking her to invite him out so they could meet him but Zoey refused. Working with him was challenging enough. It didn't help that some of them had seen her tagged online in a company group photo once, after they'd finished a particularly difficult clean out. She didn't think he was nearly as attractive as her friends did.
"1-6-0-7-3," Zoey read out loud, taking the pen from her mouth and sticking it in the clipboard's little clamp. Kit went to the panel and punched in the code. It seemed to work because the unit peeped a familiar tone of 'code accepted'. But to no one's surprise the door refused to open. As was the case at most hoarder properties with garages.
When the door failed to lift Kit set about trying to raise it manually, carefully taking hold of the handle at the bottom and slowly pulling upward. Zoey set her clipboard aside and pulled work gloves from her back pocket. As she slipped them on Kit got the door up about halfway before it caught and stopped moving.
"Wanna go under?" he asked, holding the door in place. "It's a pretty lightweight door, I can hold it awhile."
'Going under' was a bit of a stretch. A solid wall of cardboard boxes and random objects were packed tightly together on the other side. Zoey's best option was to pull what she could loose and set it in the driveway before looking for the jam. Ten minutes later and she had made a short stack of boxes under the door that were sturdy enough to hold it in place. From what she peeked inside the boxes, they were loaded with pieces of scrap wood. "Might have been a workshop. Look out for sharp saw blades," she warned Kit.
"I'm guessing the door inside from the kitchen isn't an option?" Kit asked.
"No. The owners said something inside the garage fell over a few years ago and they haven't been able to get in since."
The two of them took a moment to catch their breath and get something to drink. While Zoey tried her best to mind her own business, there were plenty of occasions where she couldn't help herself. Such as Kit drinking out of a hot pink, unicorn sticker encrusted, glittery water jug that looked like it was meant to survive a fall off a mountain.
"Nice water bottle," she noted.
"Yeah... My sister steals mine all the time, usually because she forgot to wash hers."
"Is your sister eight?"
"No," he laughed. "She's just really... extra."
Another time she had spied him wearing light blue socks with a rubber ducky pattern. She had not commented on the socks, but she had commented on the obvious face paint he had poorly washed off that had looked suspiciously like a set of butterfly wings. Those were the days that were the hardest to mind her own business, especially when his answers were things like, "I lost a bet with a five year old girl at the park."
After an hour of untangling three garden hoses, two extension cords, multiple folding chairs, and cardboard boxes loaded with more scrap wood, they were finally able to get the garage door open all the way. Kit looked ecstatic once they were able to get a better view of the chaos inside. The left side of the garage appeared to be shelving units loaded with stacks of newspapers. "What do you think they were building?" he asked.
"A fire hazard," Zoey retorted quietly.
As he did when his guesses were at least partially correct, Kit touched the brim of his hat and shifted it slightly as though he was greeting someone. Zoey always thought it was odd that he wore the hat as almost no one else on the team did unless it was too sunny or raining. Or there were mystery liquids dripping from the ceilings above them.
The work uniform was simple and everyone was supplied with one complimentary set; a pair of blue jeans, one grey shirt with the company logo on the back, one pair of steel toed boots, one snap back hat with the company logo, two pairs of work gloves, and one winter coat. Also with company logo. Employees were encouraged to purchase additional items but were also allowed to wear their own clothes, though the steel toed boots and work gloves were mandatory.
Zoey had learned quickly that injury was common when cleaning out hoarder properties, whether it was the home owner or the workers. At least two of their jobs had been the result of a client's trip to the hospital after stacks of belongings had fallen on them. She herself often went home with bruises and thought she remembered hearing that Kit had broken an arm once, years ago.
The shelving units of newspapers were covered in dust and while mostly made of wood, sported a few rusty screws sticking out of shelves that were slowly pulling away from their frame under the weight of their contents. On rare occasions Zoey was grateful that Justin, the company owner, made sure everyone was up to date on things like tetanus shots.
"Maybe we should get the dust masks out of the van," Zoey mused.
"Probably," Kit agreed, as he stepped a bit closer to Zoey in order to look over her shoulder. "What year do you think the oldest print is?"
He reached out and around her to grab one off the nearest shelf, only to startle some furred creatyre that neither of them had noticed. Squirrels, raccoons, and opossums were common inside of garages and whatever it was had been quietly waiting for them to leave until Kit startled it.
The scared creature scurried behind the stacks of newspapers in a panic, soon after joined by more scurrying. There was the sound of something falling over as a family of squirrels made their quick exit out a small hole at the top of the garage ceiling, no doubt part of some network of other small holes that would eventually get them outside.
Both of them knew all too well what could happen in that kind of situation and were already stepping away from the shelves. Being behind Zoey, Kit was able to step outside the garage door slightly faster and she felt his hand grab her arm. Before she could really process what was happening she felt herself being jerked outside.
Kit shoved his hat over Zoey's face. It startled her at first, the sudden rough fabric hitting her skin by a hand that she could feel but not see. Luckily for her the weather was pretty mild that day, so there was no sweat dampening the hat or making it smell weird. If anything, it smelled faintly of men's shampoo. Her instincts were to push his hand away because it was awkward but then she felt it.
The cloud of dust that came out of the garage, accompanied by the sounds of hundreds of newspapers falling as shelving collapsed, was so thick that Zoey could feel it on her arms as it passed by. She wished more than ever that they had brought the masks from the van in advance.
Despite the hat over her face, Zoey closed her eyes and tried to hold her breath. It wasn't until a few moments later when the sound of concerned voices greeted their ears that Kit finally took the hat away from her face. She looked at him immediately, wondering what it was he covered his face with if he'd sacrificed his hat to her. She saw him standing there with his shirt collar pulled up and tucked over his face, his arm covered in dust as though he'd thrown that over his face as well. They weren't more than a foot outside of the garage.
But what really caught Zoey's attention was Kit's hair. The few times she had been stuck with him he had been wearing the hat. It didn't matter how hot it was or how tight the spaces were he had to squeeze through. She had always assumed that he had short hair but as he stood there and asked, "Are you okay?" she saw long hair hiked up in a ponytail.
Kit's hair was long enough to indicate he'd been growing it for years. Zoey couldn't guess how long exactly because it was braided. Despite the length on top, the sides were buzzed short. It was also a nice shade of blondish brown, hints of red tones only evident as the sun hit his hair at certain angles.
Some of the other cleaners were standing by, one or two of them clapping and laughing but others clambering to know that they were okay. Justin especially was interested to know that they were unharmed before he finally relaxed enough to smile and laugh himself. They had heard the shelves collapsing inside the house and came running to check on them.
As Zoey was prompted to look at someone's phone, an image of her and Kit standing in a cloud of dust as it settled on the ground around their feet, she glanced at him. Kit was tucking his braid under his hat again before dusting off his shirt and arms as best as he could.
"I wanna see," he said, when he noticed what was happening. With a large grin as though nothing had happened, he looked at the phone that Zoey handed him. "Can you send that to me, Sheryl?" he asked, handing it back to the middle aged woman. "Definitely belongs in the album of near misses. What is all of this? Sawdust? Look, you can see our outline on the ground!"
Two guardians sat upon the roof of a stable and watched as the sun set together, sitting in comfortable silence as they pondered what the following day might bring.
The majority of their day had been spent watching as a knight attempted to teach his newly acquired squire how to mount a horse both with and without a mounting block. The knight's intentions had been good, but he had failed to realize that the boy was simply too short and too weak in the arms to really manage well enough.
Tabris had watched alone for a while, Ambriel taking the time to nap and restore their energies after days of careful guidance. Tabris could not remember the last time they had taken a nap, considering their assignment was a boy who could almost never hear the sounds of guidance. Energy was rarely expended upon him.
As the sun dipped further under the horizon the two guardians were able to look down and spot a knight and a young boy who had recently figured out how to use a fence to help launch himself in the saddle. In a moment of triumph the boy had thrown his arms into the arm with a shout of glee which startled the horse into a panicked run.
The boy fell to the ground with a small puff of dust and laid still, no doubt the air knocked from his chest, for several moments until he stood once more. With wobbly legs he made to chase after the horse in order to try again.
Tabris could not help but smile at the boy's determination to never give up, even after he tripped and landed in a fairly fresh deposit of horse manure.
Content warning below contains a spoiler. If you have no concerns about a content warning, please skip the next paragraph and go straight to the story.
Content: This story takes place in the afterlife. The loose implication is that everyone has died. There is no direct mentioning of this, and if not for this warning you might not even guess that’s what has happened. However, I have hopes of continuing this particular story where it will most likely be more obvious. I do not intend to linger on the deaths in a graphic sense. I am inspired by Greek Mythology and the concept of The Elysian Fields when I write things like this, hence the name of the post. If you are okay with Greek Mythology stories of the afterlife, then I sincerely hope this story is safe for you to read.
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“Table for one, dear?” The waitress smiled at me, chewing a wad of gum with her notepad in hand and a pencil tucked behind her ear. “Or would you like a counter seat?” She motioned behind herself, to a stretch of mostly empty counter space with stools running the length.
Her hair was short, blonde, and styled like she’d recently discovered the 50s as fashion inspiration. Which seemed appropriate since her work uniform and the diner itself were also reminiscent of the 50s. Her uniform was a faint shade of teal, a button up shirt tucked into a skirt that stretched almost to her knees. Plain white sneakers for shoes, white ankle socks, a white apron with over sized pockets tied around her waist. The name tag clipped to her uniform said “Louise” in curly letters.
The diner had black and white tiled floors. The walls were painted a light shade of pink. The stools at the counter were covered in teal leather that matched the waitress’s uniform and the counter was covered in beige toned formica. The decorations were shades of pink, teal, and yellow which all matched the neon lights wrapping around the juke box in the far corner. The booths along the window matched the stools, each table sporting its own little coin operated juke box. Sunlight streamed through the large open windows, giving everything a soft and warm glow.
“I, uh..” Looking around, I tried to remember how I’d gotten there. Hard as I tried I could not remember driving to the diner. Let alone why I was there in the first place. Trying to recall where I had been before standing at the register of the diner where the waitress waited for my answer seemed impossible. Like my memory was turning to white fog. “Where am I?”
“Why, you’re here,” the waitress said with a wink. She tucked her notepad into one of her pockets and continued smiling, chewing away at her gum. “There’s no rush, but there is a line of sorts building up behind you.” She pointed over my shoulder so I turned my head to look. Sure enough, there were several individuals standing behind me.
No one seemed annoyed. All the people standing in line were staring forward, as though they were bored and lost in thought. There was an elderly man in a nicely pressed suit, a few construction workers still wearing their orange safety vests, and a couple of kids with a frazzled looking mother. The kids were oddly quiet and standing as still as the others despite their young age. One of them happened to catch my gaze and smiled a little, then reached up to tug their mother’s hand. The woman didn’t respond.
Something about the sight bothered me so I stopped staring at the line and looked back at the waitress. “Table for one, dear?” she repeated, the same friendly smile still in place. She looked almost hopeful.
“You asked me that already.” It felt very important to mention.
“I did,” she said. “Happy to see you remember.”
“Why would I forget?” I couldn’t help but wonder if she knew I’d forgotten how I had gotten there.
A bell rang from the service window between the dining area and the kitchen. The waitress gave me a ‘please wait one moment’ gesture and walked off.
The cook in the kitchen was wearing a white shirt covered in little smudges of grease splatter. I couldn’t see his legs but I could imagine he was wearing jeans and an apron at the waist. Maybe even boots, instead of kitchen shoes. A towel was over his shoulder, which he touched gently to wipe his fingers clean while the waitress made her way towards him.
His dark hair was slicked back with gel. He seemed to fit in well enough with the 50s aesthetic, looking more like a car mechanic than a kitchen cook. Almost like a ‘Greaser’ from old movies I’d seen. The only thing missing was a leather jacket and a pack of cigarettes rolled for safe keeping into one of his short shirt sleeves. There was even a toothpick in the corner of his mouth.
The way he looked at the waitress told me he was absolutely in love with her. The thought felt odd to think about, like it was foreign that I should be able to sense such a thing from just observing his face. And yet... It almost seemed like I was used to making such observations and for a moment I felt my mind wandering and my gaze going unfocused. The longer I watched them, the more sure I was that the waitress felt the same about the cook.
I watched as she gave him a puzzled look, through my unfocused eyes, as he pointed through the window at me. She muttered something to him that was almost too quiet to hear. “She hasn’t even managed to sit down yet.” He just inched the plate closer to her, without speaking, and pointed at me again. She hesitated but picked up the plate before walking back to where I was standing.
It was a slice of apple pie, a scoop of vanilla ice cream sitting to the side. Looking at it seemed to pull my eyes back into focus. Louise handed me the plate, still smiling, but with more confusion than friendliness. “Tommy says it’s for you.”
“He didn’t say anything,” I mused aloud while taking the plate from her. The dish felt warm in my hand.
For the first time Louise’s smile slipped a bit. She looked towards the window at Tommy but he was already turned back towards the grill, flipping something over that made loud sizzling noises. The air began to smell of fried onions and cooking meat. Staring back at the plate in my hand, I realized that I needed somewhere to sit in order to eat my pie. “Table for one,” I said quietly while looking back up at the waitress.
She nodded with relief and motioned for me to follow after her. Once seated, she pulled out her notepad and took the pencil from behind her ear. While scratching out a few words on paper she asked, “Would you like something to drink? I can get you anything.”
The word ‘anything’ echoed slightly as she spoke, catching me off guard. It had been a long time since my ears had done any of the weird auditory hiccups I’d often had as a child. Out of habit I touched my ears with my fingertips, hoping that the resulting ringing in my head would fade quickly. Louise made another scribble on her notepad even though I hadn’t said anything. “Milk, I guess.” I did not want anything to drink but she was giving me an expectant look.
When Louise walked away I began to stare down at my plate. There was a fork on the table on top of a napkin. Using the fork to poke at the pie I found that it was thick with sliced apples and still very warm. Possibly even fresh out of the oven. Despite the warmth of the pie, the ice cream beside it was not melting. I poked at the ice cream too, wondering if it was still so frozen that it simply hadn’t melted yet.
The fork passed through the ice cream as though it was a freshly made milkshake and not a rounded scoop of frozen dairy. Feeling disturbed and anxious, I set the fork down on the plate and stared at the dessert. “Everything all right, dear?”
I looked up to see Louise, a glass of milk in hand.
“I’m fine,” I lied. She set the milk down in front of me with a smile, patted my hand, and turned to resume her job at the register. My table was only a few steps away so I was able to hear the conversation that ensued.
The voice of an elderly man spoke up. “Is my wife here?”
“Your wife has been waiting,” Louise answered him. “She has been so patient all these years. Would you like me to take you to her?”
But the elderly man just repeated the question about his wife. And Louise repeated her answer, word for word. Staring at the ice cream on my plate that refused to melt, I listened to them repeat the same sentences over and over. After about ten minutes the whole ordeal began to feel unbearable.
The ringing in my ears had not stopped and every time I heard them speak to each other a new word in their sentence would start to echo. Eventually it began to feel as though I was hearing their entire conversation all at once. As a kid I would simply put on my special headphones meant to cancel out sounds until it stopped. But I knew that wasn’t an option, because much like how I wasn’t sure how I’d gotten there, I wasn’t sure where my headphones were.
Unable to bear it anymore, I found myself sliding out of the booth and walking quickly towards the door. I heard Louise say something to me, interrupting the elderly man’s question about his wife, but I couldn’t make out what she’d said. Pushing my way through the line of waiting people, I leaned heavily on the glass door of the diner and saw the mostly empty parking lot outside. Wanting fresh air, I tried to step out.
As soon as my foot hit the sidewalk the parking lot disappeared from view and was replaced with a thick wall of fog. The fog was solid enough to coat my face in moisture and the sensation was startling enough to make me stop and turn around. Rather than finding myself at the door I found myself standing at the front of the line again, staring at Louise and her smile. She chewed her wad of gum, and asked, “Table for one, dear?”
It was no longer day time, the sky dark enough to suggest the sun had been down for some while. Louise smiled at me, looking as patient as ever, and waited for me to say something.
