//------------------------------// // Sad Person Discount: Pt. 1 // Story: The Depresso Expresso // by Q-22 //------------------------------// It was another slow night, as per usual during the non-holiday seasons, and Crux was once more destroying his stomach lining- er I mean, drinking another cup of coffee. He wasn't sure who worked the day shifts, but he doubted they drank as much as he did (coffee or alcohol, take your pick.) Barring the equipment behind the counter with him, his sipping was contending with the ticking minimalist clock on the other side of the room for "loudest sound". Business was slow, as per usual. Hm. There he went again, using that "as per usual" phrase in his head to describe the crushing loneliness of his working environment. He wasn't sure if he liked this over the hustle and bustle from the city. Sure, it was fun then, and there were more, you know, people; but here he was getting free drink access 24/7, so, if you really think about it- His caffeine-addled thoughts were interrupted when the little bell set atop the "front" door of the train car was smacked viciously by its door. He flinched, sending a whollop of coffee flinging from his mug and into the air, which he promptly caught by moving the mug over by an inch or two. Saved himself the trouble of bending down and wiping it up. Back to the door, it was now closing painfully slow, making a pitched creaking sound. It was being kept open by a slight breeze that somehow got through the flexible barrier that had been established between the cafe car and the passenger car in front of it, sending a little chill down Crux's spine as it (the breeze, not the door) blew by. He sipped his drink thoughtfully, looking over the newcomer. Mare, early adulthood, terracotta/deep brown color palette, naturally frowny, curly hair, stumbly steppings, aura of sad, etc. He adjusted his sunglasses while the door closed fully and she ambled over to the counter. Crux set his drink down and picked up his notebook. Job time. Fresh pencil was brought to bear on old paper and he straightened himself up. "Long night?" he asked sympathetically, skipping the standard "nice greeting" and jumping right to the "bartender" barista mode. He didn't expect her to smack her face onto the counter. She did, and she groaned too. Her hair looked like spilled spaghetti on the counter top. Sort of. It was the only analogy Crux could come up with on such short notice. "Ooooohhh you have nooooo idea!.." she exclaimed, somewhat sarcastically, with a little laugh that turned into a sob, her face still right on the counter. She snapped back up with a wobble and sniffed hard, her eyes a little more red than they were when she walked it. He gently nudged a tissue box over toward her. It had been sitting unused behind the register for some time- the locals at every stop never seemed to need it, either having their own tissues or by just not having runny noses while out getting coffee -and so he figured it'd be a good idea to offer it. It didn't work out so well. Upon seeing the tissues, her restrained snivels and sniffles only got worse and she looked just about ready to collapse in on herself. A moment before he could slowly pull the box back, she nabbed a few tissues, and upon reconsidering, took the entire box. After some fumbling, lots of nose-blowing, and a good deal of awkward drink sippage on Crux's part, she seemed to have settled. She also managed to murder an entire box of tissues and completely fill one of the wastebins, but that was fine. Totally fine. "So," he began, tapping the eraser end of his pencil against his pad. "Need some time, or are you ready to order now?" He tried to make his voice a little less punctual and a little more, well, soft? Nice? He wasn't sure what he was trying to sound like, or what he actually came across as. This wasn't a situation he had to deal with often, so, unprepared was he. She took a second or two (Crux wasn't counting, time passed reeeeaaalll slow at this hour) to think, eyes briefly skimming the menu, like she was unfamiliar with all the tacky names. Crux personally just called all the drinks by what they actually were, but policy (as well as menu familiarity) demanded he learn all the brand names too. It was often confusing for folks who weren't familiar with the corporate vocabulary. "Uhg...Uh, I dunno- Anything'll do, as long as it's sweet and caffeinated." "Mmmhm. That it?" Scribble scribble. Scribble. Maybe a mocha? Caramel latte? She squinted at the menu, sniffling again and looking for...something. "Maybe a cookie? Ah, chocolate chip?" Scribble scribble. A look of questioning. A returned shrug. "Alright, that brings your total to-" He glanced up at her again, saw the momentary panic on her face, and decided to be a decent birb. It was late. She looked like she'd been dragged through hell. Why not? "-none, because it's on the house." Panic turned to confusion, then accepting resignation. "Might I ask why?" "Sad person discount." "Riiight." "No, seriously, it's policy. 'If the customer is looking mean, give them the holy bean.' Never heard that before?" For clarity's sake, Crux noticed that the mare didn't have anything with her. No carrying bags or pockets usually meant no little bag full o' bits. No bits, no money. No money, no official transaction. "Wha-" "Kidding, kidding. I'm kidding." A pause. "Mostly."