rae_of_sun (
rae_of_sun) wrote in
applesaucedream2014-04-27 12:05 am
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Charlie's Coffeehouse [Open to Multiple]
As if to make up for the previous evening's kali horror show, Sunshine's dream is warm and familiar. She's in a bakery - her bakery in her stepdad's coffeehouse, though elements of her new workplace sneak in here and there. She hardly notices the inconsistencies as she churns out trays of muffins and sheets of cookies. Charlie's working the register, Mel's in the kitchen, Mary's waitressing, and her mom is probably in her office giving someone hell over the phone. All is as it should be.
If she knew she was dreaming, she would probably think it fitting that anyone drop in, relax, and eat some cookies (well, okay, if she knew she was dreaming she might not recommend eating anything, but whatever, she breaks that rule all the time). Last night was rough, and people deserve a break - and a toxic sugar concoction or two. As it is, she's not paying any particular attention to the customers as she carries out a tray of Killer Zebras and transfers them into a display case.
If she knew she was dreaming, she would probably think it fitting that anyone drop in, relax, and eat some cookies (well, okay, if she knew she was dreaming she might not recommend eating anything, but whatever, she breaks that rule all the time). Last night was rough, and people deserve a break - and a toxic sugar concoction or two. As it is, she's not paying any particular attention to the customers as she carries out a tray of Killer Zebras and transfers them into a display case.
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But he reconsiders just before he passes on. The atmosphere here is very comforting, very safe. And there's treats here. Might not be very filling, but he can still taste some new things, indulge a little.
So he makes his actual avatar appear, walking in the doors and heading up the display case, looking around. "Hey," he greets the dreamer with a smile. "Any recommendations?"
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He grabs a seat with his newly acquired cinnamon roll, and creates himself a coffee that he clearly had while coming in here. Rather than just sit here interacting with her mind but not with her though, he carefully plants the idea that she should come over and chat with him.
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It's just about time for her morning break. Maybe she'll use the time to find out what brings Mister Average, Pale and Vaguely Dorky to town.
She takes off her apron and slings it onto its hook, but doesn't bother with the scarf keeping her hair up and out of the way. Once she emerges from the bakery, it only takes her a second to spot new guy sitting at a table near the window (not Ms. Bialosky's though, so at least she won't have to politely suggest that he move).
"How's the cinnamon roll treating you?" she asks.
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But she didn't come out here to talk about herself. "You're not a local, are you?" she asks.
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"Just passing through," he affirms. "You've got a nice place here. What's the story?"
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"Charlie's my stepdad," she says, and she's just going to go ahead and sit down, now. Forward, maybe, but he's the one asking questions with long, involved answers. Besides, she's been in the business too long to fail to recognize the myriad ways a customer can signal that they'd really prefer it if you left them the hell alone, and this guy's displaying none of them. "He owns the place, and my mom helps run the admin side of things. I've been working here since I was in high school." Belatedly remembering that they haven't actually been introduced, she adds, "I'm Sunshine."
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"Topher," he answers, wiping off his hands with a napkin before offering his hand to her. "Nice to meet you."
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Leaning her elbows on the table, she asks, "So, are you checking out the Other Museum while you're in town?" It's pretty much the main attraction in a town that is, itself, something of an attraction by virtue of how well it survived the Wars.
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"What the hell was that?" she hisses at Topher. Did he put some kind of whammy on her? Is this an illusion, or did he actually transport them across town? Gods and frigging angels. This is what she gets for engaging randoms, huh?
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He watches the bean as she finishes what she's doing to a tray of something that smells delicious. In the waking world he'd never take this kind of chance; while he has the opportunities afforded by pastries and ingredients out on the counters, in real life it would be worth dealing with breaking into a refrigerator or other storage for the sake of waiting until the lights were out and the beans gone home. In the dream, though, he feels cocky. Darting out from his hiding spot, he darts across the counter in a beeline for the nearest baked good. Grab and run, that's the plan. That's usually the plan.
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if she likes you enough.She definitely doesn't notice Aglet making a beeline for it. And if her charms notice, their objections are drowned out by the ambient noise of the bakery.
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And then everything goes wrong. Though he didn't cut deep enough to open the reservoir outright, the weak point he just introduced into the structure is no match for the pressure of the filling. Just as Aglet rises to run back the way he came the dam gives way, colorful berry filling gushing forth and splashing against his feet. He slips in the viscous fluid and falls hard against the pudding -- indeed, falls right through it and has to flail and splash in ruined pastry to haul himself out of the sodden mess and off the plate. He takes off running for lack of other inspiration, slipping and sliding and leaving a trail even the blindest of beans could follow back toward his last hiding place.
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Oh. She surveys the damage, eyebrows creeping up her forehead. So here's another explanation: a very tiny person broke her masterpiece and then scrambled off, leaving a trail of berry filling behind them.
"Okay," she says quietly, following the little trail of footprints, "come on out and face the music, little person."
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And the bean has spotted the mess he left. He grimaces, waiting a beat. For some reason, it doesn't seem odd that she knows what happened to her pastry. It doesn't feel like a death knell, either, that she does. Slumped of shoulder, he shuffles out to the edge of his hiding place and gives her a look that's almost as much accusation as apology.
"How was I supposed to know it was going to explode?" he asks petulantly.
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Instead, she finds herself choking back a laugh. "Well, exploding is sort of what that dish does," she says. It's too bad the dish is ruined, but she can't help getting some pleasure out of the knowledge that it died gunking up a little thief.
… A little thief that's going to track said gunk all over her bakery if she lets him leave in his current state. "Sit tight; I'll get you a bowl of soapy water," she says. Hopefully he won't try to sneak off while she runs him a tiny little bath, though if he does, it won't be that hard for her to track him down.
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He frowns at her, somehow taking offense at what amounts to an offer of help. Maybe it's the part where her attempts not to laugh aren't fooling him. "It's a dumb thing to make food do," he informs her haughtily. He does consider stalking off while her back is turned, but...gunk. Even if he can find a way off the counter quickly enough to slip away, he's going to leave a trail.
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She sets the bowl close enough to the little guy so that he won't have to trek to reach it, but far enough away so it won't look to him as if she's dropping it right on his head. "Climb on in," she says. Not that a fully-clothed bath is all that enticing a prospect, but she's not exactly equipped to deal with dirty fair folk, here. She can make an impromptu bath, but scaled down laundry facilities are more than she has the time or inclination for. Instead, she grabs a dishcloth and focuses on wiping up the berry filling he's tracked all over the counter.
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Sighing, he acquiesces to come to the edge of the bowl. He hadn't really thought about the implications of taking a bath out on the counter -- he glances up at her, but she's busy wiping up after him. Does she mean for him to get undressed out here? Well, he won't do it. He'd rather be in wet clothes, thankyouverymuch. Hiking a leg up over the lip of the bowl, he gets about halfway over before slipping and falling in with a little splash.
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"'Bean'?" she asks as she wipes down the counter. "What is that, some kind of slur?" Her tone is more playful than reproachful, but even harmless slang isn't the sort of thing you honestly use to address people to their face.
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Very coherent, cogent argument there. Aglet rubs off gobs of goop into the water, which is quickly thickening.