"Alright, listen close, new guy," the barista rumbled, his voice smooth like the caramel macchiato he was currently making. His grin never faltered, all fangs and charm, his horns blending almost seamlessly with his hairstyle; a perfectly practiced appearance.
"You're lucky the boss liked you. This is hands down the best coffee shop in the Market, hands down. Literally - one of the shops across the way just serves pre-ground. Amateur hour over there, am I right?" He slid the macchiato across the counter to a waiting elf, giving her a wink as he turned back to his imp trainee.
He tapped the side of his head while he thought, and then pointed through an open archway to a rack of product in another room. "Now, first things first: inventory. All the beans are in the back - top shelf, that's the warded jars. Potent stuff for our immortals. Don’t open the ones marked with a skull unless you’re wearing counter-hex gloves. Those are hanging on the wall there. Clean aprons are back there too, change it out between warded and mortal blends. Safety first." He paused. "Speaking of, second shelf’s mortal blends. They’re boring, but they keep the normies - you know, humans, elves, dwarves, etc - from dying in the lobby."
He motioned away from the backroom and back to the service area. As he moved behind the counter with grace to grab another cup, the imp noticed his trainer's tail flicking to the beat of the song playing overhead. "Pastries? We make them fresh daily. Anything with a silver trim on the card is blessed. Don’t give those to the wolves or vamps, disagrees with their stomachs and it will be you cleaning the rest room - not me. Trust me. It's bad. You don't want that.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
The new hire, this nervous-looking imp with a jittery temperament, nodded rapidly, trying to take it all in with panicky eyes and an anxious smile.
“Currency’s mostly flexible,” the barista added, already wiping down a cup for another order. “We take coin, gems, or souls. Double check anything a fae gives you. They love to cast illusions on acorns or leaves and try to pass it off as coin. But don't bite the coin - one of the little creeps loves to disguise mouse droppings. He's banned for that, but you're new so he'll try to sneak in and pull it off again.”
He leaned in slightly, eyes glowing as he whispered. "We get some big timers in here too. Like, Mepho stops by every so often. The guy is Night Market royalty. Now, he'll say he likes bitterroot dark roast but actually prefers bitterroot light. Don’t call him out on it, never correct a primeval. Just serve the light roast, smile, and pray he feels like tipping. He's generous when he does."
The imp blinked. “And uh.. you said there are… humans?”
The barista sighed, flicking a bean off the counter into a waste bin. “Yeah. Sometimes they wander in. We have some regulars, but most look lost, usually. Don’t scare ’em. Only feed ’em the blessed bakes, only the mortal blends. They can't handle the other stuff."
"Oh!" He suddenly exclaimed. "Speaking of humans, take care when serving the Enchantress. You'll know her by the way her dresses hugs her.. well.. uh.. " he stammered a bit, realizing he may have over spoke. "Look, she's hot, she'll seem into you, and you'll want to give her the drink on the house. Don't. If you wanna wreck your life, do it on your own time and your own dime. Not while you're working."
The grinder whirred to life and the two looked at each other awkwardly for a couple seconds.
“Any questions?”
The imp hesitated. “Just one. Uh... when do I get my name badge?”
The barista’s grin widened.
“Oh, you don’t get a name until you’ve been here at least a month. Glad to have you aboard, newbie.”
