//------------------------------// // Nightmare(Night) Fuel: Part 1 of 2 // Story: The Depresso Expresso // by Q-22 //------------------------------// Crux thought his scarf was nice. Laid out flat, half of it was a light grey, the other half was a dark grey, and a thin maroon line bisected the two. It didn't complement his auburn feathers quite the way he would have liked it to, but it was comfortable. All in all, he liked it. The dazzling unicorn mare on the other side of the counter seemed to like it too. So much, in fact, that she trailed off into a lecture on different color combinations and material choice concerning the matching of scarves and bodily appearance. Somehow, she managed to criticize every aspect of the single piece of clothing he wore without insulting him, and he wasn't sure how to feel about it. On one talon, a chocolate brown and cream white scarf WOULD better compliment his feathers. On the other talon, it would mean NOT wearing his favorite scarf. The matter would have to wait for later, though, as time (and bits) were a'wastin'. As part of his contract, Crux was allowed to make himself drinks to keep him up throughout the night. He was, as of the moment, drinking a simple Stalliongrad dark roast brew, free of sugar and cream, as bitter as the pony he procured the beans from. Truly, it was THE blend for rude but necessary interruptions. SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIP "Oh, have I been rambling? You must forgive me, darling. I do tend to do that sometimes." Perfect. --- A combination of blunt-force-trauma-to-the-head, sleep deprivation, and coffee dependence left Crux's short term memory lacking in the department of functionality. Evidently he wasn't the best flier as a child, and his early attempts ended with a lot of minor concussions. Under the circumstances, he had to really try to remember all the little things, especially while working. After some experimenting, he began using a small notepad/sketchbook to log his current cafe orders and menial tasks. He also doodled. Sometimes. As the fashion fanatic was leaving the cafe/train car, Crux was staring at his notepad, genuinely bamboozled at the amount of espresso she had just walked out with. Though, she DID pay extra for it, and then extra extra to keep the actual purchase off the books. Adjusting his shades, he scribbled the transaction notes out of the little pad. Immediately after, he roughly drew out the shape of a mare's head and tried to copy how she had her mane. It was mindbogglingly unique, and he wanted to remember. --- Midnight was encroaching, and there was a talonful of costumed colts and fillies popping in and out, asking for candy or sweets. When Crux explained that said sweets and candy needed to be purchased, most would just move onto the next train car. The too-cool-to-read-up-on-pony-history griffin was, at the very least, deeply confused by this. At first he thought it was just a small group of friends trying to weasel free goods out of him, but the continued flow of children and repeated requests had put a few dents in his initial assumption. Eventually, a chartreuse pegasus filly dressed up as a lion managed to drag her father over, likely to pay for the chocolate chip muffin she had been oogling. An adult, Crux assumed, meant answers. Maybe. The unicorn stallion sighed while his daughter nudged him forward, a little pouch full of bits levitating into view. "How much for the muffin?" he asked, his eyes darting to the baked good on the shelf before returning to looking into the reflective, soul-consuming blackness of Crux's sunglasses. Crux quickly jotted the order down in his notepad for posterity, not breaking eye contact. To his credit, he wasn't trying to be intimidating, he just thought it was funny. "Four bits for a small, six bits for a large," Crux said in a managerly managerial tone. The stallion glanced back at his waiting daughter, who was tapping a forehoof on the floor impatiently. "Busy night?" he probed, wondering if he could glean ANY information about what was going on. He didn't know a lot about pony clothing norms outside of Manehatten, but he was (mostly) sure that children didn't run around in eccentric costumes 24/7. Six little coins levitated across the counter, swiftly swept up by one of Crux's talons while the other talon snagged a large muffin from under the counter. "Oh, you know, Nightmare Night and all," said the stallion as he levitated the large muffin over to his suddenly appreciative and hyper-happy daughter. She immediately dug into it with a gleeful hum, holding it between her forehooves. The action drew a "d'awwww" from everyone in the cafe, except Crux. He was busy being irritated at the lack of useful information. "Nightmare Night" could mean anything! ---