Working at a small time café was never what Devon imagined when he thought of what his first ever job would be; Burger King, Footlocker, maybe some random grocery store. All the options he could imagine, and something like a café wasn't one of them. Devon didn't even like coffee like that. He'd drank a cup here and there, and his grandmother used to give him sips from her cup when he was little, but other than that he barely ever thought of having coffee.
Of course, there were worse places to start out. His older sister, Tamira, had given him some pretty horrible tales about what it was like working in a UPS warehouse (though, he doubted it was as bad as she described). But, beggars can't be choosers, and since his allowance got cut off a little over half a year ago, this was the only way for him to make some extra spending money.
Tamira had gotten him this job through one of her old high school friends; said friend no longer worked at the café, but they'd been good friends with the owner. Good enough that the owner decided to give him a chance, despite not knowing much about him at the time, and Devon was grateful.
Before he started working at the café, Devon rarely talked to any hipster or goth people, now he'd talked to more than he could count of his fingers; being a barista was similar to being a bartender in some ways. You had a lot to talk about once you got to know a person, especially the regulars, like this one goth chick who Devon had his eyes on; dreaded hair, dark skinned, with black lipstick and nails, and her eyeliner was in this style that reminded him of those ancient Egyptian wall paintings. He'd never met someone who was black and goth before, and given how she dressed, it only made since that her name was Nubia.
But not all was fun and games at the café, after all it was a job; a job with very specific rules for those in charge of working his shift, which was the overnight shift. Some which were very odd, but: "must be followed, no matter what," as his boss had put it.
Firstly, by eleven-thirty, all the blinds on the windows in front of the shop must be lowered, and no one was allowed to look through them under any circumstances. If you forgot and had to lower them, don't make direct eye contact with the kids beyond the glass for more than five seconds.
Second, once the clock struck twelve, lock all three bolts on the door leading down to the storage cellar, starting from the bottom most bolt at the bottom of the door, followed by the middle bolt, then the top-most bolt, and the second bolt, in that order. If you mess up, start over.
And thirdly, at 3:33am, a woman will appear and order a latte; she won't use the front or side doors, she'll just be there (most likely when your back is turned). Be polite, make what she orders, and always greet her a goodnight when you hand her her order.
Three rules, very odd at first glance, but there was always a reason.
Devon had been working at the café for a little over a month, and had worked the nightshift a handful of times because those that worked nights got paid a bit extra. "For the dangers," the owner told him. His first night was probably the scariest night of his life; the eerie voices and scratching coming from the basement door, the creepy kids giggling outside the window, and getting jump scared by the woman he'd been warned about that he dubbed 'Madam Red' because of the red office clothes she wore; with the hair and the height, he was honestly closer to calling her 'Miss Bellum', though she sounded more like 'Him'.
And so, after a long day of school, Devon found himself showing up at the café at quarter to eleven for the nightshift. It was a Friday, the weekends being the only days he could work the nightshift until Spring Break started. The one working the evening shift was an older teenager named Bobby. Devon was taking over the shift for Shane, an ex-employee, and like all the other employees, Shane had also worked the nightshift, but he'd made the mistake of not following rule one; looking through the window blinds.
"Never again," Shane said to the café owner. "I don't know what kinda cursed place this is, but it ain't worth what I'm getting paid."
"Don't be mad at me, kid," the owner said. "You were the one who didn't follow the rules."
Devon and Bobby talked for a little bit, then when the clock hit eleven, Bobby left. During the nightshift the café didn't get too many costumers; you got a night owl or two, a few randoms stopping in to get a pick-me-up, but other than that it was pretty lonesome work. The first thing Devon did was close all the blinds on the windows, then he began cleaning down the counter tops and tables, mopped the floors for backroom, dinning area and bathroom; all of that took a little over forty-five going at his slowest pace.
Once all the cleaning was finished, Devon went to the cellar door and locked it the way he was told: "bottom, middle, top, down," he said to himself (there was no rule saying you couldn't lockup early, it only became a problem when you lockup late). Then the voices and the scratching came. Devon had always been curious as to what was down there at night, but there was no way he was gonna open the cellar door and look; he wasn't stupid. That's one way to end up on a t-shirt. Devon thought.
For the rest of his time, Devon played games on his tablet and listened to music to keep himself busy. The boss saw no issue with it, as long as he did what needed to be done. So, when 3:28am rolled around, Devon paused the game he was playing and began getting ready to make 'Bellum's' latte.
The first sigh of her appearance was the lights flickering ever so slightly, and the music coming from the speakers on the walls distorting.
At 3:30am, the voices coming from the cellar stopped, as well as the scratching, and the eerie giggling from outside the store quieted down into hushed whispers.
Then, just before the clock hit 3:33am, Devon turned his back from the direction of the cash register. He knew she was there before he turned back around; she was always followed by the strong scent of perfume; of lavender, roses and something else he could quite put a finger on. Devon straightened out his red apron and turned, a smile on his face as he greeted the tall, slender woman in red.
"Welcome, Ma'am. What can I get you today."
The tall demoness stared straight ahead at the menu on the wall for a moment, before she cast her gaze on him; her eyes glowed an eerie red that he could easy see through her long black tendrils of hair. "My lord is feeling something of the peppermint variety; he wants a peppermint mocha latte with goats milk, three sugars, no cream, and a dash of Deadman's root powder."
Deadman's what? Devon raised an eyebrow at that last one. "Um, I have no idea what that is, ma'am."
Raikage77 t1_iugl7y1 wrote
Reply to [WP] You are a barista in a 24 hour coffee shop. Every night at 3:33am a demon appears for the Dark Lord's latte. by WarturtleWitch
Working at a small time café was never what Devon imagined when he thought of what his first ever job would be; Burger King, Footlocker, maybe some random grocery store. All the options he could imagine, and something like a café wasn't one of them. Devon didn't even like coffee like that. He'd drank a cup here and there, and his grandmother used to give him sips from her cup when he was little, but other than that he barely ever thought of having coffee.
Of course, there were worse places to start out. His older sister, Tamira, had given him some pretty horrible tales about what it was like working in a UPS warehouse (though, he doubted it was as bad as she described). But, beggars can't be choosers, and since his allowance got cut off a little over half a year ago, this was the only way for him to make some extra spending money.
Tamira had gotten him this job through one of her old high school friends; said friend no longer worked at the café, but they'd been good friends with the owner. Good enough that the owner decided to give him a chance, despite not knowing much about him at the time, and Devon was grateful.
Before he started working at the café, Devon rarely talked to any hipster or goth people, now he'd talked to more than he could count of his fingers; being a barista was similar to being a bartender in some ways. You had a lot to talk about once you got to know a person, especially the regulars, like this one goth chick who Devon had his eyes on; dreaded hair, dark skinned, with black lipstick and nails, and her eyeliner was in this style that reminded him of those ancient Egyptian wall paintings. He'd never met someone who was black and goth before, and given how she dressed, it only made since that her name was Nubia.
But not all was fun and games at the café, after all it was a job; a job with very specific rules for those in charge of working his shift, which was the overnight shift. Some which were very odd, but: "must be followed, no matter what," as his boss had put it.
Firstly, by eleven-thirty, all the blinds on the windows in front of the shop must be lowered, and no one was allowed to look through them under any circumstances. If you forgot and had to lower them, don't make direct eye contact with the kids beyond the glass for more than five seconds.
Second, once the clock struck twelve, lock all three bolts on the door leading down to the storage cellar, starting from the bottom most bolt at the bottom of the door, followed by the middle bolt, then the top-most bolt, and the second bolt, in that order. If you mess up, start over.
And thirdly, at 3:33am, a woman will appear and order a latte; she won't use the front or side doors, she'll just be there (most likely when your back is turned). Be polite, make what she orders, and always greet her a goodnight when you hand her her order.
Three rules, very odd at first glance, but there was always a reason.
Devon had been working at the café for a little over a month, and had worked the nightshift a handful of times because those that worked nights got paid a bit extra. "For the dangers," the owner told him. His first night was probably the scariest night of his life; the eerie voices and scratching coming from the basement door, the creepy kids giggling outside the window, and getting jump scared by the woman he'd been warned about that he dubbed 'Madam Red' because of the red office clothes she wore; with the hair and the height, he was honestly closer to calling her 'Miss Bellum', though she sounded more like 'Him'.
And so, after a long day of school, Devon found himself showing up at the café at quarter to eleven for the nightshift. It was a Friday, the weekends being the only days he could work the nightshift until Spring Break started. The one working the evening shift was an older teenager named Bobby. Devon was taking over the shift for Shane, an ex-employee, and like all the other employees, Shane had also worked the nightshift, but he'd made the mistake of not following rule one; looking through the window blinds.
"Never again," Shane said to the café owner. "I don't know what kinda cursed place this is, but it ain't worth what I'm getting paid."
"Don't be mad at me, kid," the owner said. "You were the one who didn't follow the rules."
Devon and Bobby talked for a little bit, then when the clock hit eleven, Bobby left. During the nightshift the café didn't get too many costumers; you got a night owl or two, a few randoms stopping in to get a pick-me-up, but other than that it was pretty lonesome work. The first thing Devon did was close all the blinds on the windows, then he began cleaning down the counter tops and tables, mopped the floors for backroom, dinning area and bathroom; all of that took a little over forty-five going at his slowest pace.
Once all the cleaning was finished, Devon went to the cellar door and locked it the way he was told: "bottom, middle, top, down," he said to himself (there was no rule saying you couldn't lockup early, it only became a problem when you lockup late). Then the voices and the scratching came. Devon had always been curious as to what was down there at night, but there was no way he was gonna open the cellar door and look; he wasn't stupid. That's one way to end up on a t-shirt. Devon thought.
For the rest of his time, Devon played games on his tablet and listened to music to keep himself busy. The boss saw no issue with it, as long as he did what needed to be done. So, when 3:28am rolled around, Devon paused the game he was playing and began getting ready to make 'Bellum's' latte.
The first sigh of her appearance was the lights flickering ever so slightly, and the music coming from the speakers on the walls distorting.
At 3:30am, the voices coming from the cellar stopped, as well as the scratching, and the eerie giggling from outside the store quieted down into hushed whispers.
Then, just before the clock hit 3:33am, Devon turned his back from the direction of the cash register. He knew she was there before he turned back around; she was always followed by the strong scent of perfume; of lavender, roses and something else he could quite put a finger on. Devon straightened out his red apron and turned, a smile on his face as he greeted the tall, slender woman in red.
"Welcome, Ma'am. What can I get you today."
The tall demoness stared straight ahead at the menu on the wall for a moment, before she cast her gaze on him; her eyes glowed an eerie red that he could easy see through her long black tendrils of hair. "My lord is feeling something of the peppermint variety; he wants a peppermint mocha latte with goats milk, three sugars, no cream, and a dash of Deadman's root powder."
Deadman's what? Devon raised an eyebrow at that last one. "Um, I have no idea what that is, ma'am."
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Will be continued soon when I have time