[OPEN] I just met you, and you're in training

[stellen]

WHO: John Reese & whoever stops by to torture him
WHERE: "The Grind", a coffee shop near the porter in De Chima
WHEN: From 6am-3pm today
WHAT: John's first day on the job as the worst barista in history
WARNINGS: Terrible customer service & possible violence



Conveniently located at the edge of downtown near the military base and porter, The Grind is your typical De Chima coffee shop and one of five shops sprinkled across the city. It caters to busy, important people going about their busy, important lives and offers quick service and a wide variety of hot drinks and gourmet pastries.

The atmosphere is young and cautiously trendy. Popular, but not overplayed songs on a carefully curated playlist create a mellow yet funky mood. It invites people to bring their computers and pretend to work, gossip with friends over a pretentious cup or simply pay too much for a croissant and be on their way.

The staff are bright, youthful and used to dealing with the steady flow of students, doctors and lawyers that make up the neighbourhood. They memorize your overly complicated drinks, do their best to pretend they care about your day and might even know you by name- they'll ask for it if they don't. Because you're a customer, not a number.

At least, most of the staff.

There's one barista that just doesn't seem to fit in. It could be that he's twenty-five years older and a foot taller than the girl at the cash register, or maybe just because he sucks at his job. He wears a bright gold tag that says 'TRAINING' right over the one that says 'John' with a drawn-on smiley face.

He screws up every drink. He wipes down the tables half-assedly and sweeps without even looking at the floor. He barely fits behind the counter and he keeps hitting his head on hanging light fixtures and bumping into people. He'll write your name down wrong, or replace it with 'glasses' or 'woman with baby'. When he says "Have a nice day" he does it with a frayed, empty sort of smile that might make you reconsider showing your face this side of town ever again.

He's too big, too old and too haggard to be doing what he's doing and he hates every minute of it, but for one reason or another he's still there- and he's your barista.

Comments

i'm dying

[rathercommon]

[ Now, Kitty has worked at a cafe for a while now. She's learned how to pull a decent shot of espresso, how to foam milk and how to steam it - she's even getting the hang of doing little hearts on the foam on top of her drinks, which is something that maybe seems a bit on the saccharine side but which reliably earns her bigger tips. She's learned the difference between a good latte and a bad latte.

This is such a bad latte.

It's not usually in her nature to complain about something like this - after all, the people behind the counter work hard, if they mess up an order they mess up an order and she knows how much she hates having to take stuff back when she does something wrong. But the grumpy tall guy who made her drink - first, he came off as a bit of a jerk, so she's not really inclined to be sweet to him. Second, he's in training, so it's worth pointing it out because these are things that are worth addressing now before they turn into habits. And third...She's honestly confused as to how he managed to mess up her drink this bad.

So she waits for the line to go down. Then, in a moment of quiet, she brings her cup (with "short hair" scrawled on the side) up to the counter, and lifts her chin to get his attention, and says: ]

Hi.

employee of the month amirite

[stellen]

[ He doesn't turn to face her right away, because he figures someone else will do it. Whatever happened to teamwork? He screws around with the coffee grinder for a whole two minutes before he feels her eyes burning holes into his back, and he turns around with a metal mallet in one hand and a fistful of coffee grounds in the other.

He vaguely recognizes her. If she told him her name, he doesn't remember it or what she ordered. He stares at her for a moment, like she might realize John wasn't the one she needed to talk to, until it's obvious that he is and there's no getting out of it.

For all his tall, dark and haggard routine- he had a voice like velvet. It only made every inappropriate thing he said that much more disconcerting.]

Sorry, someone puked all over the bathroom- it's out of order.

Some people just can't hold their espresso.

[ Either that, or John had made a drink with milk instead of soy again for the fifth time that morning. Maybe people who were lactose intolerant should learn to drink their coffee black. ]

picture of him on the wall framed by a gold star

[rathercommon]

[ Kitty is usually a little bit hard to catch flat-footed. But that response just completely takes her off-guard. She's...How...All right, she hates customer service, hates really dull dead-end jobs; they're a means to an end, with that end being making enough money to support her other hobbies. But she's good at them. And she's experienced enough to be completely flummoxed over the fact that anyone ever gave this guy a job. How? Why? How?

She stares at him a full moment, and then answers with a very British, very polite: ]

Lovely.

[ And then she nods like he actually answered her question, and then goes onto what she was actually going to say. ]

I'm afraid the milk in this is a bit burned. [ And then, with a no-offense sort of smile - ] They showed you how to use the steamer, didn't they?

with a big dead-eyed smile

[stellen]

Burnt?

[ Somewhere in the world children were dying of starvation and wars being waged over religion and territory, but this poor girl's milk was a little bit burned.

The look on his face said it all. He drops the mallet onto the counter with a loud clatter and wipes his hands off on the front of his apron, which was already splattered with whipped cream, coffee and something red that could have been blood. ]

And yes, they did show me, but as you can see- I'm in training.

[ He smiles and flicks the shiny, gold badge pinned to his chest like a prisoner's ID with the same sunny enthusiasm as a convict. ]

[bindsthedead]

[Sabriel had decided to use the Porter- mostly out of curiosity, because it was unlike anything she'd seen in the Old Kingdom or Ancelstierre.

She also needed to do some shopping, since she had arrived with only the clothes on her back, and those were apparently not considered appropriate attire for school or work. So when Sabriel walked up to the counter, she was not only clad in a hauberk and surcoat, but was carrying almost a dozen shopping bags. She was tired, and increasingly irritated by all the stares she was attracting as she set her drink (with 'Sabrina' scrawled on the side) back onto the counter.]

I asked for tea. This is coffee. And bad coffee at that.

[stellen]

[ Everyone was a critic. John rolled his eyes and slammed down the coffee pot. He had made tea, which meant someone else was missing their coffee. His morning just kept getting better and better.

When he had first helped Sabriel he hadn't even looked at her or spoken, and barely heard her over the strumming of acoustic guitar, as evidenced by the cup. If he hadn't been silently traumatized over the increasing stack of orders he might have remembered her and maybe even gotten her name right. Sabriel had never seen his face, but she could know him by his voice. It was fairly distinguished, low and dulcet toned.

This time their eyes met, and he recognized her as the girl he had spoken to over the network about her evil talking cat. Small world? Not really. ]

If you ever want to see your cat again, you'll take that back.

[bindsthedead]

[Sabriel let out a bark of laughter, but her smile lacked any humor. She may have been trained since she was five to be a polite young lady, but being dragged into another world after her adventures in the Old Kingdom had worn some of that away. She looked around, no more impressed by her surroundings than Reese appeared to be. She felt uncomfortably out of place- had felt that, in fact, since the moment she stepped out of the Porter on her first day.]

If you had Mogget, you wouldn't want to keep him longer than you had to, Mr. Reese. And this certainly isn't tea- although I admit, I'm not the best judge of coffee. [Particularly when she sipped it expecting to taste tea.]

Although I suppose this means that they really are handing out these jobs as jokes. [It would explain why she was working in a cemetery.]

[stellen]

If this is a joke, it's not very funny.

[ John sure felt like a clown, and had to wonder if this wasn't payback for all the trouble and terror he had caused people in the service industry during his missions. Now he was the one left to clean up after some jackass in a suit.

Karma aside, Sabriel likely had it worse than him. She wasn't up to her elbows in coffee beans and didn't have whipped cream in her hair, but she was a young girl alone in a strange world.

He grabbed her a new cup, a bigger one than the one she had paid for. He could pass it off as another screw up. This time he wrote 'Sabriel', and actually made an effort to get it right. It probably wasn't the best bag of leaves in hot water she had ever drank, but with some luck it wouldn't be the worst. ]

Find what you were looking for?

[ He can't help but notice her dozen shopping bags. ]

[forsometimenow]

Jennifer got the impression, when she stopped after her overnight shift for some coffee, that the man serving her wasn't exactly in a good mood. Probably it was because he hit his head when wiping a nearby table- those lights really needed to be raised a little, she thought.

"Having an off day?" she asked him kindly.

[stellen]

It got old fast.

Watching John wax-on and wax-off the surfaces while bumping his knees off the table and his head off the lighting, you wouldn't think he was agile or brutally efficient. In that sense it was a good cover job.

The 'Man in the Apron' wasn't half as intimidating or iconic as the 'Man in the Suit', but he was memorable in his own way. There weren't too many silver-haired barista that stood over 6'2". Surrounded by petite, peppy girls young enough to be his daughters he stuck out like a sore thumb.

"Oh, I'm doing great. How are you?" That was as close to a civilized response as he could muster. Someone had spilled something on the table, covered it up with napkins, and then spilled something on top of that.

A murder would have been less messy.

[forsometimenow]

Jennifer arched an eyebrow as she sipped her coffee. Okay, so this man didn't exactly seem to be the chatty type- he didn't really look like he was comfortable doing what he was, either. Still, she pressed on,

"I'm grateful for coffee shops after working all night," she said, hoping that might help his bad mood a bit. "It's nice to come in and relax a little before going home."

[stellen]

John wasn't chatty, not with people he didn't know, but she was polite and he was bored. The mass of goop and napkins was stubborn and he would be scrubbing at it for a while. Conversation would be more comfortable than a long, awkward silence.

"Nights are better than days."

He chewed on his lip and pried at the edge of one napkin with a butter knife, wiggling it beneath the paper and prying up. The plastic handle snapped and the other end flew off into space- hitting a business man in the back of the head.

John lifted his head to look at her with a cool smile, "Work nearby?"

Hello, friend.

[restingstitchface]

Crane doesn't make a sound, no - he's in the back of the queue, making sure he's getting a good look at the man struggling to make a decent head of milky foam on a latte. He's willing to continue if his gaze is caught, and would even feel a little thrilled at the man-to-man standoff. A cleverer man better than someone who thinks he matters.

Eventually, he's standing at the head of the queue, still watching. He looks and speaks to the guy as though he's a slide under a microscope.

"Mineral water. Still and bottled."

Here comes the secret-shopper.

[stellen]

John looks at Crane as if he has two heads and the line grinds to a halt, not for the first time that morning. There is a lot more to the world of coffee and pastries than John ever cared to know.

He grabs a bottle of mineral water from the refrigerated cooler, drops it onto the counter in front of Crane and watches it silently for a long moment before responding.

"Looks pretty still to me. That'll be five dollars."

coming to learn your secrets then shop them to the network, yes

[restingstitchface]

The resentment is palpable. The threat of intimidation is powerful enough to make others grab their coffee and leave. Crane, however, doesn't react to much anymore. There's a lot more to feeling fear than being stared down on by some guy who was likely on his college's football team.

He watches the bottle roll onto its side as his hands occupy themselves with handing over the money.

"Not very still at the minute, is it?"

... that is actually pretty scary.

[stellen]

John never went to college, and he was actually more of a basketball guy. With his height and reach he barely had to jump to reach the net.

It certainly wouldn't have taken much effort to grab Crane from across the counter, and dunk him into the cooler. With the line steadily growing behind him, John couldn't say he wasn't tempted.

"Here's a straw. You look like a smart guy, I'm sure you can figure it out." He tucked a pink, striped straw into the buttonhole of Crane's blazer.

"Have a nice day."

[tadeadshi]

[It's a lot colder in De Chima than California and Tadashi is still not completely used to that even after a week. Seeing a familiar, welcoming sight of a coffeeshop, he can't help but think of home and, what's more important, hot coffee and ducks inside. The smell hits him hard. He's only been here a week and he misses his home so much.

The line isn't too horrible, maybe four people in front of him. But looking around, he sees several faces that look less than pleased glaring down at their mugs. Maybe it's just something different than they're used to, can't be bad right? Once he's at the counter, he sees the rather surly looking guy behind it and smiles, still just pleasant as ever.]

Hey, afternoon.

[stellen]

[ They probably look less than pleased because he managed to hand every person the wrong drink. Like an over-priced, non-consensual guessing game. Doctors and lawyers were supposed to be smart, they would figure it out eventually.

This next customer looked younger and less entitled than the previous flock. He was caught off-guard by the simple, human statement and the smile on the kid's face.

He stares at him for a moment, his steel-blue eyes narrowed and his weathered face hard- but then he returns the expression as best he can, given the circumstances. ]

Afternoon. Uh, can I help you?

... Welcome to Grinds.

[ Nailed it. Who needed a script? ]

[tadeadshi]

[Oh. Oh, he has his training apron and everything. Poor guy, how long did they actually keep him with a trainer? Okay, maybe he won't get a latte, he'll take it easy on him.]

Uh, yeah. Just wanted to get a coffee? Medium's fine.

[He's pretty sure this place has specific names for the sizes, but if this guy's really as tired and done as he looks, he probably doesn't care. Anything to make his life easier and for Tadashi to get his coffee.]

[fistofthejoestar]

[Jonathan doesn't travel outside of Heropa as often as perhaps he should, but today he's felt like a change of scenery would do him some good. the coffee shop is cozy enough that he doesn't feel uncomfortable settling into a corner table to do some research from the thick volumes he's brought along on the trip; he's been here for perhaps half an hour now, happily flipping through the books and jotting down notes as they come to him.

however, his attention is falling more and more on this poor barista. having only order some sweet out of the dessert case from one of his compatriots, Jonathan's been spared dealing directly with him - but it doesn't take deep observation to be a little worried about how poorly he's handling this job. when John bumps an empty mug off a nearby table during his lackluster sweeping, Jonathan can't help but catch it and ask:]

Do you need any help?

[is he sincerely making this offer? judging from the earnestly concerned expression on his face, yes.]

[stellen]

[ It wouldn't be the first piece of kitchenware he had recklessly endangered that morning. At least one plate, two cups and a mug were coming out of that week's pay-cheque.

John's cleaning experience was limited. As a special operative he created the messes, the CIA took care of the clean-up. Left to his own devices John preferred burning evidence to wiping it down. Faster and more thorough.

John's shoulder was acting up in a bad way, he had taken a bullet only a few days prior and it wasn't fully healed. He can't help but rub at the joint and cast a weary eye at Jonathan, not entirely sure he was serious, but too tired and sore to care. The sweeping and mopping were harder on his back than a five to one fight.

Most thugs were less persistent than spilled sugar. ]

Thanks. Could move your chair.

[fistofthejoestar]

Ah, certainly.

[Jonathan obligingly moves said chair after gently placing the rescued mug on his own table, still keeping an eye on John as he goes. he's trying to figure out a polite way to make it clear his offer of help extends a little further than just making it easier to reach certain niches, but isn't quite certain how to broach it without being insulting. guy certainly looks like he wouldn't mind someone else taking up the drudgery, but...

hopefully he doesn't look too awkward while he's trying to piece this out in his head (and watch out for any further falling china)]

[r00t]

She felt a little sketchy about the porter, considering what happened the last time one of those had gotten hold of her - unwilling transplantation to a whole new world. While she usually didn't object to sudden travel, this was a little much. But she decided, ultimately, to give it a try anyhow, because somehow, in this unstable situation, the prospect of seeing John seemed incredibly appealing.

It didn't hurt that he'd make the worst barista possible, either, and she'd pay real money to see that.

She pulled the door open and stepped inside, dressed in a pair of jeans, boots, a leather jacket, glancing around to see him - and god, he stood out like a sore thumb, enough to bring a smile to her lips despite everything going on in her brain. He was rearranging some of the merchandise on the wall, aligning cups with careful movements of those big hands she'd seen throttle countless enemies.

Sauntering up behind him, she gave his ass a light swat, and then cocked her hip, resting her hand on it, "Hey..." She leaned in, squinting at his name tag, "...John. When's your coffee break? Wanna spend it together?"

And she fluttered her lashes.

[stellen]

One day on the job and he was losing his edge. John had thought the CIA and Finch were fussy, but at least he could understand the importance of properly magnetizing a hard drive before disposing of it or calculating bullet projections at a staged crime scene for authenticity.

Why every mug had to face the same direction and every handle line up was beyond him. This was John's third time arranging the case. The first time he had done it wrong, and the second time a group of grabby school kids had stopped for espressos they clearly didn't need and messed it all up.

He turned too quickly when Root's hand found his ass, which resulted in the destruction of two overpriced polka-dotted mugs that would definitely come out of his pay.

The glare Johns shot her was meant to be cutting, but lacked the spirit- he just looked depressed.

"Two minutes and thirty-five seconds from now, actually." He had been counting.

[r00t]

She had to admit, watching him line up those mugs looked a little like a man trying to participate in a little girl's tea party - awkward and clumsy, and kind of cute in a puppy dog way.

That train of thought just left her realizing how much searching for Shaw and being dragged to a whole new world had screwed with her perceptions. She wasn't challenging it, for the moment, since a bit of normalcy was a good thing, however skewed it was. Without The Machine, she was just finding herself relying on her other teammates more, for better or worse.

And maybe it was just this weird skewed perception that made John's sad attempt to glare at her just as cute as his mug arrangements.

"Well, aren't I a lucky girl, and you're a lucky guy. Why don't I buy you a coffee? I brought snacks. Figured you'd be sick of overpriced baked goods already."

She lifted a little bag with the logo of a nearby hot dog stand on it, "Need a hand with the merchandise? Might require a bit of a...lighter touch."