A song I made a year or two ago (thinking one year but my sense of time is bluh). This is a slightly better version of the original recording found here. Here's the original description:
"This is a song I composed during a time of bildungsroman; circumstances weren't going very well for me, and I realized I’d been holding things in, not allowing them to escape. This song, ”Reise Av Den Falne Hjerte” (Voyage of the Fallen Heart) (Title courtesy of explodifirer), traces the emotions that fill the heart as it crescendos, decrescendos, takes, and releases emotion. Although this is an amateur recording of a ten-cent song I've thrown together, I hope this can bring somebody somewhere a little emotion."
So I'm in Paris today and this Jamacan guy comes up to me. He talks about friendship and wishes and starts using my finger to braid a bracelet. I knew the scam, but I wanted to look for a polite opportunity to back out. "Hakuna matata" he said over and over again. I groaned at how cliche it was, but before I could say another thing, he'd tied it tight on my wrist and asked for five euros. Stunned, I reluctantly paid. Now here's where it gets fun . Me and some friends I made in Paris made a group of about six. We went up to the guy and one asked for a high five. When he did this, I grabbed his wrist and retired the same shitty bracelet on him and said "Hakuna matata beyotch, that'll be five euros" and he was so fucking stunned that he reached into his pocket and gave me my money back.
I was ClassyContraption for a while (I dunno if anyone wants it, but I'd much prefer to keep it). I'll be using Italyans at least until the jerk hoarding "Italians" decides to let it run free--
Felix trudged through the door into Cafe du Chance, looked at the current amount of customers in the shop briefly, before going behind the counter and putting on his apron.
“Yo.” He mumbled to Daffodil, hoping to keep his interactions with one particular social butterfly to a minimum. However, as soon as Felix spoke, Chance came out of the serving area gracefully, and leaned on the opposite side of the counter, propping his head on his palm.
“Welcome, to your first day on the job, new guy!”
“My name is Fe-” He started, but was cut off by the wagging of Chance’s index finger in front of his face.
“No time for chit-chat, Francis, we need to put your skills to work!” And, not letting Felix get another word in, Chance led the newest staff member of Cafe du Chance to his post: The Coffee Brewing Station. It was absolutely glorious, even though he wouldn’t admit it, at least out loud. It was a modern chrome machine, with a black face and a touch screen to adjust the temperature or the amount of time each brew would need to finish.
Felix stood there as Chance tried his best to explain all of the functions of his “totally rad coffee maker,” but it was white noise to Felix, who felt a calling to the soft glow that seemed to radiate from it’s chrome body. He was being dragged in by the smell of the leftover coffee beans that had been used to make a fresh batch before he had come in that morning.
At that moment, Chance left Felix to his station, his parting words being,
“We’re brewing an Arabian blend today~!” Then the boy danced off again. How the hell did he even move like that all the time? Felix turned back to the beautiful thing and hesitantly pressed a few buttons, testing it to- hopefully- get more familiar with it. As soon as his finger touched the screen, a high pitched beeping noise sounded, making Felix jump.
“Ah!” He gasped, holding his hands in a defensive posture, like he had just activated the countdown to self-destruct. Soon realizing that the machine made that sound whenever a button was pushed, he resumed his responsibilities, and hoped that nobody saw his moment of weakness. Unseen by Felix, a dark, foreboding, and rather short figure spied him from a crack in the door to the back or the establishment. With a disconcerting grin, he vanished beyond the threshold.
In front of the store, a young girl erased the chalk from the sign out front, and re-wrote the new specials down in incredible handwriting. At the bottom, she drew a rose made of red chalk for the petals, and green chalk for the stem. It’s petals bloomed outwards in the most graceful way, and yet, it was subtle enough for it to not distract from the main goal of the little standing sign, which was to advertize the specials of the day, in hopes that more customers would be tempted to come in for a drink and a snack.
She turned, a satisfied smile on her face, and entered the cafe to post the specials inside as well. Her apron read ‘Nicolette” in hand-stitched cursive. As she finished the advertisement routine that she had nearly perfected in her time working at the cafe, her smile faded slowly, her thoughts turned brooding. She was shaken from her downcast gaze by the young, short errand boy, Keenan.
“What’s wrong, Nicolette?” He asked softly, his voice oozing the innocence that he always seemed to have. Well, most of the time. Nicolette had taken notice of a few occasions where his little tantrums turned into something more devious, like he was hiding something that could bring everyone’s world crashing down with a single snap of his fingers. At this moment, however, his wide eyes and concerned smile betrayed her, and the way he tugged so gently on her apron brought out something...almost maternal in her.
“Nothing, Keenan, I was just thinking about what I should do next.” She cooed, but obviously, this was the wrong move, because his face flushed and his worried expression changed to one of irritation.
“Don’t talk to me like that! I’m not even that young! I’m old enough to have a job here, aren’t I?!” He stiffened out, his clenched fist by his side.
“Yeah, a sweeping job and washing off tables.” She smirked at him, now officially in “Tease Keenan” mode. The boy just pouted again and stomped off, sweeping the floors of miscellaneous garbage furiously. She let out a chuckle and went back to her duties, her dark thoughts subsided, for now at least.
A few hours later, when most of the staff was on their shifts for the day, save one Sebastian, a customer came in.
“Hello! Welcome to Cafe du Chance!” The crew said in unison, turning to the door as the bell chimed. Their faces all dimmed as they saw who exactly was there to express patronage. Denzel Redwood, the forty-something perpetually stressed guy with black hair and a temper like a fuse and dynamite. It was all they could do to hide the utter disgust and fear they held in their hearts. he walked up to the counter quickly, and scrunched his eyes at the cashier with long, colorful hair, then turned his critical gaze towards the menu. He took a deep breath and spoke like lightning.
“I will have a double espresso made with half light and half dark, then I want it topped with exactly one and a half ounces of cream. To go with that I’ll have a raspberry muffin and a napkin. Also I want an iced coffee with caramel for my daughter. I hope you got that because I’m not repeating myself. If it’s not in my hands within five minutes I expect it to be free.”
Luckily, he ordered the same thing every time, so the cashier girl, Emma Lee’s hands danced on the register, while calling out the order to the others, who had already started upon the time the man had started talking. After two creation dances and clumsy timing, the team produced the full order and laid it on the counter with twenty seconds to spare. The man offered up his money, and Amoretta supplied his change from the register with a forced smile.
“Enjoy.” She said through clenched teeth. With another accusing glare, he took his order and sat down at a nearby table, so he could stare at the crew with all of the menace he could muster. Chance sauntered up to him and, with a smile you could tell was rehearsed, asked him if he was satisfied with a “do you need anything, Mr. Redwood, oh so valued customer?”
Some time later, the man left and a collective sigh was heard, and the team managed to relax enough for the atmosphere to be more comforting than with the tension so high.
“Can you even believe that guy?!” Montgomery-Clemence complained. He was a rather tall boy of middle eastern descent, and his name was so tough to say that the crew just called him Jarrod. He was perfectly fine with being renamed; not a lot of people like calling him by his full name except his adoptive parents. Everyone voiced their agreement about the customer, all but Chance.
“Oh come on! This should be encouraging. If we can handle a guy like that almost every day, we can handle anything that comes our way! Besides, his orders are always expensive, so we’re raking in the dough!” He clapped his hands a little in joy. “Challenge complete!”
Felix came out of the back room, his earlobe length hair tucked into a pink hair net, courtesy of the money manager of these parts. He sighed and looked at the staff. They all seemed so familiar with each other, which is to be expected, after all; they do all work together almost every day. He wondered then if it would be worth his trouble to become like them, smiling and jovial and...totally insane. No, I’m just doing this because I need the money. I won’t let them get to me; especially not Chance.
“Oh, Dahling,” Chance started, when he saw the new guy behind the counter, “You must be the absolute greatest coffee brewer we ever had, Freddy!”
“It’s Fel-”
“Back to work with you!” He said with a smile and a wave. I’m going to die here, thought Felix, as he trudged back to The Coffee Brewing Station.
