The Hangover Cafe

Kyp

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Tiny liked working morning shifts, despite the fact that it involved coming in at 3 in the morning to help open up shop. Customers were usually very quiet, orders were simple, and she had lots of spare time between when customers needed her attention. The baudy drunks didn't tend to show up until afternoon and that suited her just fine.

They served a lot of hangover "cures", hence the name of the cafe. And even if hungover people didn't tip much, they didnt cause any scenes and didn't question the slightly-over-priced coffees. Sinaloa met customers at the door and - extra quietly - led them to a table and gave them a menu. This last customer seemed like he needed something a lot stronger than the coffee he ordered. When she placed the coffee mug infront of him, Tiny made a point to mention it, setting a glass of water to the left of the mug.

"You look like you could use something a lot stronger than black coffee. It's not really going to help with the headache. Neither will water, but it'll help with. You know. The dehydration?"

@Sarrain
 

Sarrain

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Terrence had requested the table most away from everyone. He usually was an attention grabber. Lately, he was just frustrated. His best mate was getting married. They'd had something of a falling out, and Terry had mentioned they were fine. They weren't. Not the most mature course of action, but Terry had never been one for maturity. Growing up was for suckers — and now all his friends were suckers, and he was lingering behind.

When the waitress (waiter? He didn't want to presume) brought him his order of coffee and a glass of cold water Terry cast a look up at them. Everything they said was garbled to him.

Would the water help with the dehydration? Or was that the coffee? Or was it whatever this person was proposing. He was normally much quicker than this dammit.

"Eh? What're you suggestin' exactly? Look," he looked at their nametag, "Sinaloa? Ya seem like a sweet.... person, but I've dealt with a lot o' hangovers in me time, I think I know how to cure 'em."

He'd laid his accent on thicker than he needed to slurring some of his words.

 
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Kyp

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Sinaloa couldn't help but giggle at the man's strange accent. It was thick and heavy and she could barely understand some of his words. She pointed to the water as she answered.

"I'm suggesting you drink something good for you is all. This place is literally named after all the 'hangover cures' we sell. Most of them are myth, you know. Like coffee. It doesn't help the hangover headache. Just wave me down if you need something Mr. Irishman."

Sinaloa swivveled in place with a slight hop and darted over to the door as another customer entered. She didn't seem to have any particular job to a bystander, jumping around between serving customers, helping with drinks or washing tables. Her movements were oddly birdlike, flitting about in an irregular pattern, not that anyone really seemed to mind.

She giggled to the other waitress during a brief visit to the kitchen, about the funny accent the man in the corner had, recieving a head pat while the other girl adjusted the buttons on her shirt to show a little more cleavage.
 

Sarrain

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Terry looked sluggishly at his water. He'd have fought the idea that coffee didn't help a hangover but... well he had a hangover. Somewhat begrudgingly, he picked the water up and sipped it.

Terry watched Tiny work for a while, somewhat bored. He examined the other patrons who didn't look much better than him. Christ, did he look that bad? He peered at his altered reflection on a spoon and grimaced.

Once he'd finished half his water and got started on his coffee, Terry flagged Tiny down to his table and waited patiently for her to approach so he didn't have to raise his voice.

"Alright, I'll bite," he said and motioned to the booth across from him. "Sit on yer arse. Gimme some company. You can start by explain' where that name o' yours comes from."

 
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Kyp

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Tiny bounced away from the table she'd just finished serving and up to the irishman's table when he waved her down. She had assumed he would order something else, or ask for fresh coffee, perhaps more water. Instead she struggled with her words, taken aback. He wanted company from her.

"I-I'm sorry I don't think... I don't really do... This isn't..."

Sinaloa stayed where she was, frozen like a deer in the headlights. She hadn't been asked to keep someone company since the government had shut down the old cafe for unlicensed prostitution. Sinaloa cleared her throat and tried agian to say a full sentence, without cowering, squeaking, or running away.

"Wh.. What do you mean by that?"
 

Sarrain

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Terry watched as they sputtered and fumbled with themselves. When they asked him evenly what exactly he meant by his request, it struck Terry as odd. He wasn't going to make presumptions. He had too much of a headache to do so. Or to care to try.

He gave her a long, pointed look and again motioned to the booth across from him.

"I mean. Sit down and have a conversation with me. I'm bored."

 

Kyp

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Sinaloa made a small, awkward sound, sitting herself across from Terry as stiff as a washingboard.

"I'm not all that interesting. I don't uh, don't have any fancy species thing, and i don't have any remarkable stories. But you um. You asked for my name so..."

Sinaloa fidgeted with the clip keeping her tie on her uniform. She'd never really had to explain a name to anyone before. She didn't even know what Mazia meant, or where it came from. Sinaloa looked down at her name tag, then back up to the irishman. The name tag only had her first name on it, and she felt a little dumb. She could explain that one just fine.

"It's a bird. A crow, really. Sinaloa crows are tiny. And they aren't really black."

Sinaloa shook her head to fluff up her hair and show him the way it reflected blue-ish light rather than black.

"They're blue like my hair. And really small. I can go into people's dreams and when I do that I look like one of those tiny crows and that's why I stole their name."
 

Sarrain

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Terry watched as Tiny lowered herself into the seat across from him. You'd think no one had ever spoken to her before. He was quiet as she stared at her nametag dumbfounded before explaining the name to him.

"Ne'er 'eard o' no crow by that name, but I'll take it. So ye a bird-person or somethin'?"

The mention of entering people's dreams was odd, but not the oddest thing he'd ever heard. "Can't transform unless ye in a dream or what?"

He paused, thinking, and realized she didn't know his name. "M'name is Terry Liddell. Pretty standard, so I don't think I need to explain much o' anything 'bout it."

@Cypress

Translation: "Never heard of no crow by that name, but I'll take it. So you're a bird-person or something?"

"Can't transform unless you're in a dream or what?"

"My name is Terry Liddell. Pretty standard, so I don't think I need to explain much of anything about it."
 

Kyp

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Sinaloa made an awkward, muffled squeaking sound.

"It's uh.. .Mexican. It's a mexican bird. Very small and doesn't really. Um. Leave very far. I don't know why I have a mexican bird. It's um. I was an orphan sooo I know i'm not mexican cause I grew up in new york but like. Y'know. Probably some explination through parents."

Tiny looked up briefly at Terry, trying to figure out why she was still sitting down with him. She looked next at the other waitresses, but they all seemed to be doing fine without her. Looking back at Terry, Sinaloa slumped down in the seat, fidgeting with the bracelet around her wrist. If she was needed, someone would have complained to her already. Or yelled at her. She had time to sit and wait until the irishman decided he was done with her.

"I can only turn into a bird in other people's dreams. But sometimes I bring feathers back. Stuck in my hair. It's weird, but me collectively is weirder sooo it just seems normal now.
 

Sarrain

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"Oh," Terry said rather dumbly. "Yeah, guess that one explains it, eh?" he rubbed his face trying to wake himself up more. Terry had expected something he could work off more, but he wasn't firing on all five cylinders.

"So like... some weird kinda bird shifter... thing? Like a nightmare, eh? Bringin' back feathers is odd."

Terry went quiet before losing his accent almost entirely. He wasn't as skilled at it as Fitz, and some of his Irish country boy dialect came out when he lost the majority of his accent, but it was good practice.

"I just turn into horses 'n' shite."

 
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