Cafe

by Stegtorn

Taking Risks

You should take up smoking. Seriously. Everyone in this town has a /thing/ so you should get one too. So far you've only seen minotaurs and griffons smoking, and they only drop by this little town once in awhile. You could be like the local smoking monkey. On second thought, maybe that's not such a good idea.

Sundays are the only times you have off. Between tough work at the train station and sleeping the whole of Saturday to rest off all that hard work you have little free time. You spend it walking mostly. Ironic, exerting yourself when you've got a long day tomorrow. Whatever, doesn't matter, the system works.

You go for your walks on Sunday mornings. Today is quiet. A few ponies trot around, one or two wave at you — maybe recognizing you from the train station. Not to be rude but you can't really recognize any of them. Maybe they're just being sweet. Speaking of sweet.

Maybe you should get a girl. It's nice to have a partner, isn't it? A warm feel lights up your chest, that's weird. Most people in town are already paired off. Seems being single in Ponyville is unusual. You haven't really been looking but now that you think about it most mares are wrapped around stallions, husbands and boyfriends. Or would it be coltfriends? Then what's the word for husband in pony. . .?

At noon you usually stop at a cafe, whatever is closest, most are good. The Blue Moon is your favorite though. Today you dropped into the Red Dress. It's a new place you think. Small, not too many tables, their menu is about as limited as the seating. You aren't complaining though, means less people to bother you. You sit out in the patio, the sectioned-off open air place in the back.

Three tables out here, one with an umbrella cover. It's such a mild day you decide to pick the completely open one. The slight chill just biting enough that the heat from the drink would do away with it. You'd be caught in a small little bubble of caffeine that would ward off the cold magically.

Perfect day for a cup of Joe! And it seems someone else agrees with you. A grey, angry looking mare sits across from you at the other table, coffee in front of her, staring intently at the tabletop. She's alright. The hair, er, mane. Black but almost silvery in the light. Long lashes, curled just a little.

You sort of like gruff girls. They have a certain quality, you don't have to baby them. Something about her tired eyes, tense form and aggressive air makes you want to approach her. That's kind of a stupid idea, isn't it? Disturbing someone trying to relax. Your muscles tense up and your mind flicks between options. Ah, to approach or not approach. To be young and lacking confidence again!

Picking up your coffee and sitting across from her is going to be quite the trip. Ponies are usually really open, she probably won't turn you away, even if she wants to. If she wants you gone you'll read her body language, down that coffee and split. If she wants you to stay, maybe you'll make a friend. Well it's now or never, you think, cupping the underside of the dish with your hand. It's natural!

As quickly (but also as carefully) as possible you skirt around your table and settle down next to the mare. She scowls up at you from the table. Your face can't seem to form a smile right now so you just move your eyebrows up.

"May I help you?" She questions.

Hmm, nice voice. Pleasantly deep, assertive.

"Well?"

Oh, damn, you've been staring at her, eyebrows raised, for far too long.

"I just, I just felt... Hmm."

"You felt... Hmm?" She asks, mocking you a bit, putting on a condescending face.

"I felt compelled to sit with you," you blurt out suddenly, if you had more time to think about it you may have convinced yourself that bravado was a smart move.

"Is that right?" she says, eyes getting ready to roll themselves.

"Yes, that's right," you get a hold of yourself and say it proudly, puffing out your chest.

You sip at your coffee with the faintest twinge of nervousness. The wind picks up just enough to be noticeable, rustling her mane. You shiver slightly. Bubble popped, cold getting inside the fort!

"I guess I can't stop you," she says with a huff, looking back at the table. Looks like she hasn't touched her coffee.

"Are you a musician?"

She perks up, eyes wide and nervous, unblinking in their curious defensiveness. "I might be, why do you want to know?"

"Well, if you're not and you're carrying around such a large instrument I'd be concerned."

You point to the cello case leaning against the table. Genius!

"Oh, right," she slacks again and that spark of near happiness seems snuffed, "yes, I play the cello."

"That's nice. I played the recorder in school."

Her eyes become slightly lidded and her mouth opens for a snarky remark but she just doesn't bother.

"I was never the musical kind of person," I continued.

"So what kind of person are you?"

Her tone sounds reluctant, but she still asked. But, she isn't really looking at you, she's staring off into the streets. Near devoid of people at this hour. Maybe because of the odd half-grey sky and tickling cold.

"I work at the local train station. I guess I'm a train kind of person."

"Sounds boring."

You take another sip, squinting at her, "so does rubbing a bow against a cello."

She gives you a crude smile, "you might be right on about that one."

"Wait. I don't think I've caught your name, what is it?"

She takes a moment to think, which is strange.

"Octavia, and yours?"

"Anonymous," you reply proudly.

"Oh you're going to be one of those?"

"One of those?"

"Mysterious, you can't know my name types."

You let loose a quick chuckle. "No, no. That's really my name."

"Strange name," she says, squinting at you.

You shrug while taking a sip.

"Very strange name."

"Octavia isn't so common either, you know," you retort.

"I guess not."

"Do you live around here?"

"Yes I do, around the block actually. Yourself?"

"Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"Well, all my possessions are here in the apartment I rent, but I've got a little place in Shady Hollows. Nice vacation spot. So I suppose I live there too."

"You own a home? Impressive."

Was that sarcastic?

"Lucky night of betting with a rich real estate agent. Heh. Maybe you'd like to see it some day?"

"Anything is possible in your dreams," she replies, smiling widely.

"So you're a musician and a comedian, 'impressive'."

For the first time she takes a sip of her coffee with a shaky hoof instead of a firm one.

"You alright there?"

"I'm fine," she growls.

"Jeez, no need to get defensive."

"Bah," she barks like an old crone, "I suppose you're right. I just haven't slept in awhile."

"Then why are you drinking coffee?"

"I don't really know. I bought it just to get a spot in the cafe. Thought maybe a nice relaxing sit in the open here might do me some good. Can't very well write my music without any sleep."

You let that sink in, "how long have you been awake?"

She sighs and taps the table twice.

"Should be about three days now. Don't get too worried. At this rate you're going to bore me to sleep," she cracks another smile.

"One of these days Alice. Bang-zoom," you punch the palm of your hand.

"Straight to the moon!" She follows up, weakly throwing her hoof up to the sky.

"Surprised you know that one," you say, tapping your chin.

She grins at you weirdly. You're getting the feeling this one probably doesn't talk to others much. Too sarcastic for the other ponies around here. She's kinda weird.

"So tell me," she begins, look at you with her tired eyes, "What's it like working at the station?"

"It's okay. Pretty boring, tough work, but it pays well enough."

She nods at you, looking around.

"I would imagine being a musician is pretty cool."

"Not at all," she stifles a laugh, "between having to write the music, and the jerks I preform for, it's a real pain in the butt. Plus the pay isn't so good."

"Maybe you should consider coming to work at the station."

"I'm not built for manual labor."

You gaze off into the distance, something catching your eye. Looks like two mares having a scuffle. You nod subtly to Octavia, encouraging her to turn around.

"Oh hey. I know those two," she says with a vague interest.

"Oh yeah? Do they whip out the claws on each other often?"

The mint and white mare have come to blows, even if they are soft.

"More often then they'd like to admit. They love each other though."

"Oh, lesbians?"

"W-what? No, they're girlfriends."

Wait...

"I'm debating breaking up that fight," Octavia grumbles and taps at her mug.

"Wouldn't that constitute manual labor, in a way."

She gives you a look of condescension, "Weak! It's gonna be a few years before you're as witty as me, kid."

"Kid? We can't be more than a few years apart."

She looks back at the two fighting. Now they've begun hugging. Are they sobbing? Ponies are odd folks.

"How old are you?" she asks.

"I'm twenty. You?"

"I'm seven."

"Hell, you don't look it."

"And you don't look twenty."

"Are we talking horse years here?"

"What the heck is a horse year?"

"So, you going to that summer festival?" Your coffee is almost running as low as your conversation topics. You're feeling something here,

"Of course, everyone does," she takes another meek sip, glancing into the cafe interior.

The sun is getting a bit low. How long have you too been talking?

"You going to be preforming there?"

"Not this year."

"But you have in the past?"

"Once or twice. It's horribly set-up. I don't know why I agreed the second time."

"It always looks pretty organized."

"Looks are deceiving. Like you looking about six when you say you're twenty."

"6? That's a bit low don't you think?"

"Not at all."

A pause. You stare at each other and size the other one up for the umpteenth time today. Always ends the same way, the both of you letting out a "blah" and turning your heads in opposite directions.

"Moving on. I've always wanted to try the Ferris wheel they set up, but every year I just forgot to get on it. You ever given it a spin?" You laugh at your own wordplay.

"Forget? More like scared I bet," she smiles at her own joke. "And no. I've never gone on it."

Did she blush just then? You can't even tell, not with all that fur. Damn horses, so hard to read.

"Well, I suppose if you're not too busy we could go on it sometime."

"Sometime would have to be between July 20th to the 23th," she says regally, pretending to be disinterested by inspecting her hoof.

"Why is that?"

"That's when the Ferris wheel is up."

"So is that a yes?" you ask with a smirk.

She squints at you, but then gets distracted by something in the distance, "the sun is setting."

"So it is."

"You thinking of heading home?" She asks.

"Well if you're going I will."

"Then you can walk me home," she says gruffly.

She doesn't smile directly at you, but when she thinks you're not looking she smirks. You take her instrument for her, trying to be a gentlemen or something.

"Why thank you. It's nice to know you think so low of me."

"Huh?"

"I can hold my own bag."

"I thought you weren't built for manual labor?"

She laughs.

"You need to work on your jokes, pal."

You grin to yourself, trailing a few paces behind her. For letting you stay so late without complaint you left quite a big tip behind at the cafe. You also paid for Octavia's unfinished drink.

The pair of you stand outside her door, Octavia looking up at you curiously, her instrument back in her possession.

"So. Summer festival, next Sunday, you'll pick me up at six so we have plenty of time to enjoy ourselves."

"Right," you say with a hint of sarcasm, but you know you'll show up at five-fifty to be a little early.

"Good night," she adds before moving to turn around.

"Try to get some sleep. And if you can't, why not try out my bed?" you suggest coolly.

She stops, "not a bad idea, you can put me to sleep with more talk of that train station."

She heads inside, leaving you with a smile on your face. You considered giving her a kiss but decided against it and now it's too late. You stalk home to get some rest before you hard day of work tomorrow. Octavia is a sweet girl.

Author's Note:

This is a bit of an experiment. Being an unfeeling machine whose only goal is pass butter it's increasingly hard to recreate natural human or pony conversation. I tried my bestest here. I wanted to make something snappy and natural feeling, on a second edit I added a few more descriptors and breaks in the dialogue.

If you've got any pointers towards more natural speaking, I have only this to say: ayo hmu thnx fam.

Comments

[Mustafa]

Well done.

[TwilightsmyMare]

I enjoyed it, wish it wasn't complete.

[SublimeSlime]

This is really good!

[heller22]

This is a great story. I got a few laughs and maybe a giggle out of it, and it didn't drag on. So all in all great job have a thumbs up. Heck have a moustache

[Countpony]

That's some of the more well written "banter" dialogue I've read in my time. It felt natural and fitting to the characters.

[Dustchu]

I adore the cover art~

Nicely written, nicely written, hehehe

[SunBlaze]

It felt natrual and well written

[nothingtoseehere]

That is a well preserved 57 year old burro.

[DRaily]

So did you caunt horse years by the formula of :
1. First year = 12 human years
2. Second year = 7 human years
3. Next three years = 4 human years each
4. Each additional year = 2.5 human years each.

Or did you just multiplied by three?

[Pandemonium6]

I relate to this. I like the way that he thinks. Very efficiently and to the point.

[Noobly60]

Awesome