Sunrise in Numubya · 2:34pm Oct 7th, 2021
Coffee worked in the same neural pathway as sex, right? Springa was certain she’d heard that somewhere. She took another sip from her steaming mug and hoped she wasn’t making things up again.
Outside the coffee shop, an army dozed. Four hundred-ish bedrolls containing the slumbering forms of her regiment arrayed themselves in even rows from one end of the Numubyan dockyard to the other.
From her perch at the coffee shop window, which in the Numubyan architectural style was really more of an ornately-frilled hole in the wall, she could watch over them all from a comfortable distance. It felt both motherly and a little voyeuristic. Springa reminded herself that was the role she had to play as their commander. What a strange thing, all this.
An espresso machine gurgled to life behind her. She turned to see who else was up and saw a civilian contractor, a griffon named Peque berating the barista with oddly specific instructions for how to make his espresso.
Back in the real world, it would have made Peque seem like an asshole. But out here, Springa knew better. Coffee worked in the same neural pathway as sex, probably. Coffee was as close to comfort as any of them would be getting for a long time.
Peque finally got his coffee and made his way over to her. “Good morning,” he said in a voice as floral and strong as stinky cheese. “Look at them. They bask in slumber like pigs bask in shit.”
“We’ll be moving a lot in the next few days. They’ll need it.”
Peque nodded. He took the first sip of his espresso and shivered. Like sex, Springa thought with a faint smile. Then Peque said, “The poor swine don’t know what they’re in for.”
It always bothered Springa, the way Peque talked about soldiers. Swine, beasts, loathsome creatures... it felt supremely disrespectful. But it was a matter of culture. Nothing to take personally. It stemmed from the same indignation that made him bark coffee orders to his baristas. The same indignation that made him such a good logistics officer.
Springa wanted to change the subject. “Did you get the final tally on the body bags?”
“Yes. Seventy eight. The rest were lost at sea.”
“They’re plastic. Shouldn’t they float?”
“The boat they were stored in was also designed to float.”
Springa scratched her chin. “Seventy eight won’t be enough.”
“I was able to scrounge another two hundred bed rolls. If worse comes to worse, we can bury them in those.”
Springa eyed the rows of sleeping soldiers. A shiver worked its way up her spine, and she clutched her coffee tightly in her hooves. Wasn’t the desert supposed to be warm? “What about coffee?”
“Is yours not to your liking?” he asked, passing a disdainful look at her mug. Another thing he spoke of in condescending tones: drip coffee.
“No, I mean for the troops. Could you work your magic procuring them some extra coffee rations?”
Peque snorted. “What, should I line them up at the counter and buy them all frappuccinos? No, ma’am, I think not.”
“Peque.” She turned to face the griffon. His claws and sharpened beak had long since ceased scaring her. Only the sharpness of his voice still cut her. “Surely there’s a few bags of coffee beans left in this city.”
The steely tone of her voice was enough to make the griffon think twice about his answer. “The blockade has made it exceptionally difficult to procure luxuries in bulk. This establishment seems to be the exception.”
“But...”
“But... I will see what I can do.” He gazed out the non-window. To the rising sun and the rows of bedrolls. “You and I look at the same thing and see two different things, Springa.”
“What do you see?”
He clicked his beak in thought. “I see... ah, I do not know. It is not my place to say, at any rate. You are my commander. I am merely the one who procures coffee out of thin air.”
She turned her whole body to face Pique and took a moment to look him over. He was an exceptionally ugly griffon, old and lumpy with gargantuan wings and more scars than plumage. He was also her one real confidant in this entire army. That made him perfect.
She nodded to the rows of bedrolls outside. “I know they’ll appreciate it.”
He sighed and raised his espresso cup, a comically small thing when compared to his colossal sharpened talons. “Of that, I’m most certain.”
They touched their glasses. Springa drank deep, the way she would of a lover.
DUUUUUUDE!
this is awesome.
My brain is making guesses at the timeline now.
But I don't want answers....it's more fun for it to be unclear