A Bit Tea'd Off
Grind, Grind, Pour, Serve.
Grind, Grind, Pour, Serve.
Grind, Grind, Pour, Serve.
There was something refreshing in the simplicity of it. Also, I was making money off it. But back to the less practical aspects - I enjoyed making tea merely for the act of it. I enjoyed serving tea both because I enjoyed it, and because my customers shared in my enjoyment of it.
There were no worries involved. No bullies trying to make my life a living hell, no Principals openly bragging that "freaks" like me would never be allowed a moment of joy at her school - which, honestly, would hit harder if Blackwell's definition of "freaks" didn't include students taller than average, students shorter than average, students smarter than average, students dumber than average, students better at sports than average, students worse at sports than average, students darker skinned than average, students lighter skinned than average, students in gangs, students with clean criminal records…
Average, of course, was defined as being Minako Blackwell.
In other words, I joined 95 or so percent of Winslow in being the 'nails' she gave speeches over the intercom about how we'd be hammered down.
"Thank You for coming," I gave a short bow and handed a receipt to the older couple in matching Brockton Bees jerseys.
The Emo Emu Teahouse (previously a short-live Australian-themed Vegan Restaurant called the Green Emu. I saved money by keeping part of the sign) was my own personal sanctuary. And the only one remaining for many of the Bay's outcasts - Goths, Nerds, Dorks, Loners, Band Kids, Drama Club Members, Mathletes, and the generally Bespectacled ever since Uber & Leet burned down The Heroes Of Old Comics and Games because they wouldn't stock cartoon Japanese porn.
Sure, I had to compromise by brewing that vile filth, coffee, and adding a much more extensive array of food options catering to a migraine-inducing (for me, anaphylactic shock-inducing for my customers) web of allergies and preferences, but for what it bought me?
A sense of personal freedom, a feeling of security about my future, interacting with people my age in a way that doesn't set my social anxiety racing, being able to have authority on my side for once (You don't think I was joking about that Trespass Order now, do you Emma?), and some people I'm starting to think I might actually be friends with.
DING!
I turned my head to the door, a practiced customer service smile on my face… ah, lovely.
Did I forget to add 'No PRT trying to use the exhaustively detailed contract Dad had negotiated with them as toilet paper' to the list?
"Pardon me, Ma'am," I said to the American Flag bandana'd woman marching in the door, as the Emu went silent, Koma and Sparky stopping their improvised jam session, conversations halted, and numerous phones were pointed at the Protectorate Hero.
"If you didn't notice the sign on the door, the same sign I remind you of on nearly a daily basis, we at the Emo Emu, for the safety and happiness of our Valued Guests, do not permit masks on the premises."
"I am Federal Parahuman Agent, Countess, it is unlawful for you to ask me to unmask. You know that."
"And I am certain you know, that this private property, that mask bans have been upheld by the Courts repeatedly, that the Cape Name I chose is Rikyu, and that this is Brockton Bay, where Parahuman crime is so endemic, and law enforcement so terribly unable to do anything about it that many of my Dear Guests are traumatized and, might, for example, find themselves experiencing unpleasant memories at the sight of a masked Cape intruding on what should be a Safe Space." I didn't need to look at Table 6 to know to start brewing a potent anti-anxiety blend for Mrs. Shikibu.
"Perhaps if you showed up for your scheduled Wards patrols, some of those criminals might find their way off the street then?"
"Oh, was I scheduled tonight?"
"Yes," she hissed. "The same schedule I have had to come here to remind you about every night for the last month."
"Ah, it seems it slipped my mind, Ma'am, what with calling my Father the first several nights to ask if he'd approved of me going on patrol, finding out that he didn't, and then that prompt investigation by the Youth Guard…"
She ground her teeth, eyes tracking me as I stepped past Jeanne and her sister to hand the shaking librarian the cup I'd prepared for her. "On the house," I whispered.
"The one Channel 5 and the Bay Herald did that expose on last week about how a bunch of teenage thieves hacked into the PRT, re-wrote patrol schedules for months, and somehow shipped everylast Protectorate member to a Cultural Sensitivity Seminar in Boston so they could rob a bank."
Her glower was something fearsome. "That does not change that…"
As was my smile. "That you are still expecting me to work a patrol route authored by the criminal genius of… Hellhound, I suppose it was." I gave a shrug, as if to say 'It can't be helped'.
"...If you're still locked out of the computer, perhaps you could try working things out on pen and paper? I have some in the back I could let you borrow."
I prided myself on knowing my customers as well as they knew themselves. NOT BETTER. Holy Fuck, TMI is thing. …Where was I? Ah yes, I didn't need to look towards Table 11 to know it was Lisa (only Lisa, and only ever Lisa) who was snickering into her cup of house specialty anti-focus blend and that across from her Chris (only Chris, and only Chris unless we were both at the Rig picking up our paychecks at the same time) was hiding his face in his hoodie and cup of Emo Emu exclusive Focus Prompting Blend.
DING!
A girl, one of the fellow Goth crowd walked, burger in mouth and both middle fingers in the air, tossed a debit card on the counter and sat down with the Quebecois sisters. Her usual then.
"You are a Ward, Countess. Assigned Patrols are required. Assigned even."
Well, color me impressed. Okay, you can't, my powers have stuck me in a permanent state of terminal Goth-ness. Also, I'm ticklish and will absolutely blast you with my tea beams. I'd say my tea beams are awesome, but the girl with the boken at Table 3 will complain that I'm trying to steal her ultimate attack again, and she tips too well to risk aggravating.
But yes, Militia has hidden depths it seems. Hidden depths of snark.
"Strange, it seems my contract, the Wards Handbook, and the Youth Guard's many, many legal representatives are all of a different opinion."
"And how long do you intend to play this game? You made a commitment to serve, Taylor."
At real names are we? "No, the Protectorate made a commitment to get me into Arcadia, and yet I still languish my days away at Winslow. The Protectorate made a commitment to put away the girls who poisoned me, and I still see them every day at school. The Protectorate made a commitment to keep me safe, and I'm paying out my sepia colored ass to keep Newter in scones so he'll keep the Nazis awa…"
"NEWTAH GETS FREA SCONES!" Burger girl yelled, waving a fist with one hand and catching her mostly eaten burger with the other. "Wotz that bloody 'izzard gots tha' ay don' have any!"
"He doesn't bring in outside food," I told her. I got a reply in the form of both middle fingers as she sat back down, burger already in her mouth.
A Bit Tea'd Off (Worm/Fate:Grand Order Inspired)
AN: Kind of ran out of steam here.
Inspired by a combination of the latest FGO event being about Tea, so, you know, clear crossover potential with Taylor, and a post on R/Wormfics looking for a Taylor that joined the Wards before Sophia.
Backstory: Taylor's Summer Camp after her Mom's death was taken over by Uber & Leet, who forced a bunch of middle school girls into a live-action survival horror game. Taylor was thoroughly pissed by the time she got home, went to see Emma, and ended up taking weeks of built up Hebert Temper out on Sophia's face.
This caused Sophia and Emma to Quintriple down on the bullying from the get go, leading to Taylor being held down and having rat poison tea forced down her throat in the middle of the cafeteria. Taylor triggers.
Danny comes through and negotiates a banger of a Wards contract. Which Piggot promptly ignores 'cuz Taylor's In The Army Now and Emily Piggot's Military ain't no union shop.
Pissed, the Heberts decide Taylor will opt of everything Wards (everything is voluntary beyond the basic power testing and costume fitting Taylor had already done), and just collect her did-the-bare-minimum minimum wage paycheck and college fund.
Taylor, being an open Cape (she's visibly not normal), managed to get befriended by a bunch of other outcasts looking for protection at Winslow, they needed a place to hang out, and Taylor decided "I've got tea powers, so I might as well sell tea."
As this was FGO inspired, there are several human!Servants in the Emo Emu.