Now something I've wanted to do for a long time. And something special for my RP Chat to learn of one of my deepest, most mysterious characters. I give you,
"There you are, love. That's £3.60 thanks."
"Blimey, Costa really is a scam, int it?" I chuckled at that. He's not really wrong. All any coffee shop does is make drinks, it's the names and price tags that drive up business.
I hand him the drink and go to clean the coffee machine down. It's not the worst job in the world, mind you, but you do meet some right arseholes. Idiots who think they know better, people who don't know how coffee works, ignorant sods who don't think for themselves and then some. But I could never work at one of those chain shops with the green aprons and stupid names for sizes. Just call it a small, medium or large! It's not hard!
When you're a barista in Marylebone you meet almost every type of customer and they can either make your day or wreck it in one interaction. As I finished cleaning down the machine I spied a familiar face waiting to cross the road and smiled. He was wearing a new jacket, longer than usual, but still had his black jeans draped in chains, ox-blood red tshirt with some metal band logo on the front, and rows of chains and spikes around his neck, his eyes cold and bored as usual. He was a regular at our shop, but he wasn't a very regular customer at all.
Everytime he came in, before you even had chance to welcome him with the little spiel he had already told you his order and handed over the cash. And it never changed. You couldn't get a word in edgeways. And he never looked you in the eye. He'd step up to the counter, mutter "Black coffee, no cream, no milk, no sugar," and then slide the cash across the counter and wait patiently for his drink, either staring at something on his phone, or some battered old notebook in his hand.
As soon as I spotted him I started making his coffee. Poured it from the machine, stirred the mug to dissolve any stray coffee, and before he could even open his mouth I held out the cup, beaming.
"Black coffee, no cream, no milk, no sugar?"
He looked up and stared at me quizzically. He had brilliant green eyes that seemed to probe my very psyche as he stared.
"Uh, yes? How did you kn-"
"That'll be £3 please." I quipped, coolly.
His eyes narrowed, almost annoyed at me for knowing what he was going to say. As if he was almost annoyed that he'd become predictable.
"How did you know that?" He questioned, staring hard at me as I remained composed.
"Mate, there's not many around here who dress or sound like you, your order never changes and you come in here almost every day. Not hard to see the pattern."
He almost seemed offended at first which made me uneasy until I realised he was intrigued. As if I was the first person to make that connection in his life.
"Listen here Rose, I come to this shop to get a little peace and quiet, not to be plagued by strangers, understood?"
"Well, there's plenty other coffee shops along here, mind. You could go to those-"
"Unacceptable. One is always filled with tired mothers carting around screaming infants, another is filled with coffee snobs who think they're drinking real Italian coffee and the final option...is just wrong in so many ways. Just call it a large, for God's sake, we're in London, not Venice."
I chuckled softly at that last comment but it seemed he wasn't finished.
"So, this shop suits my needs. It's never too busy, it doesn't cost the Earth, never plays God awful chart music over conversations and usually has decent service."
"Well, nice to be appreciated for once," I smirked, watching his gaze slightly shift as I refused to be shaken by his cold, calculating manner.
"I have work to do. Here's the money, keep the change."
"Finlay. With an A. But it wouldn't make much difference in your accent."
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
"Cockney. Blue blooded murder of the English tongue, I say."
"Suit yourself, Finlay with an A," I responded, almost smiling like an idiot.
"Oi! Rose! Quit chatting wiv the customers, ya got a queue formin'!"
I flinched at his tone briefly, before fixing on a smile again.
"Yes Sir, sorry Sir." I called back but I saw Finlay making that face again.
"Move along, mate. If the wind changes, you'll be stuck like that, mind." I offered before moving onto the next customer. He never took his gaze off me from that point forward, seemingly forgetting about whatever he was supposed to be doing, those emerald saucers just glued to me as I carried on serving and working.
I started clearing tables of cups and finally got to Finlay with an A's table. He was still staring at me.
"It's rude to stare, love."
"When the man you called Sir barked orders at you. You flinched."
"No I didn't." I reached for his cup but he pulled it away, intent on having this conversation it seemed.
"You flinched at his tone, your eyes squeezed shut and your teeth gritted. Then you fixed on a smile as if nothing happened. That's not normal."
"It matters if your Fight or Flight is activated when someone raises their voice. It can indicate certain neurodivergencies but can also show signs of abuse. Which isn't healthy."
"Not sure what you're on about, mate."
He grabbed my hand, not harshly but still grabbed it as I reached over for his cup. He looked me dead in the eyes, a flicker of concern in his gaze.
"Are you safe, Rose Woods?"
"Course I am! I live in a flat, with my Gran, that's owned by my bellend landlord. Nothing to it. Yeah he's aggressive and shit but I'm no pansy. He wouldn't hurt me, I don't think."
His eyes narrowed, that look of scrutiny written on his face again as if he was trying to figure something out. Then it dropped. He let me take the cup and carefully slipped a few notes under his serviette. A tip. He'd left me a tip.
"Right back at you, Finlay with an A," I called as he walked out, his coat swinging as he strolled down the street. I guess you never really know a person until you get in a conversation with them. Even if it is forced by the other person.
Part Two: The Wolf is coming soon!
@mcbident @beeinitwarrior @jackiequick @blueboirick
