#coffee cups on the shelves. bags of coffee grounds on display. coffee menu on the wall. and yet

[beaft]

i've had this so many times!! literally what goes on inside these people's heads... I will never understand it

what i've learned from working in hospitality is that there's a specific subtype of Bad Customers who aren't exactly rude but just behave like it's their first day on planet earth

[lonelypond]

A Coffeeshop Christmas Carol, Ch. 2

Love Live, Love Live Nijigasaki, NicoMaki, NozoEli, ShizuKasu, 4.4K, 2/5?

Summary: Nico learns more about Maki and we meet some undergrads.

An Evening Out

In her three years at Tudor, Nico had never been to this part of campus. An old stone barn hidden among birch and pine trees. A small clearing, with carefully landscaped chunks of rock, a small creek running in front of it, with a simple wooden bridge, and a few pieces of modern sculpture, as well as what looked like a Rodin.

Nico took an oddly angled selfie and posted it to TWIG, with the caption, “Dropping off Nico’s perfect #AChristmasCarol script in a pretty part of campus. Where's Nico?”

There was a gargoyle styled iron door knocker and a more modern bell with “do not disturb” engraved in brass over it. Nico pressed the bell. No response for more than three minutes so Nico pushed open the door. Impeccable soundproofing. Instantly, music flooded out into the world, loud dancey music, bass and organ and drum tracks crashing. At the far end of the large open room, under a stunning multipaned window, Maki Nishikino, dressed gray sweats and black shirt more suited to a gym than a music studio, ball cap flipped to the back, bounced in front of a synth, twirling a knob above the keyboard with one hand while the rest of her was popping and locking as several tracks of “Uptown Funk” merged into a merry cacophony. It was the goofiest, sexiest thing Nico had ever seen and she hated to interrupt, but…

She pitched her voice to carry, “Nico thought you didn’t bop.”

Maki collided with the keyboard, only the stone wall keeping the keyboard and connected computer upright. Maki had no help and slid to her knee, eyes wide, then narrowing into a glare, “Why are you here?”

Nico pulled A Christmas Carol out of her bag, “Bringing you a copy of the script.” Nico stepped closer, “Need a hand?”

Maki shook her head, grabbed the pages out of Nico’s hand, and scurried back to an armchair she levered herself into. Nico watched as Maki struggled to get panicked rapid breathing under control and pull off nonchalance. It was a total fail, but Nico decided to be polite and ignore it. There was a couch catty-corner to the chair and Nico dropped into it.

“So you do bop?”

“Hell.” Maki leapt out of the chair, grabbed her phone out of a stand, and quickly slid her fingers around the screen. Nico’s script hit the ground.

That seemingly urgent task completed, Maki took off her hat, rubbed her arm across her forehead, and grabbed a waterbottle off a mini fridge, ignoring Nico the whole time. Nico examined her nails. Definitely needed a trim and a manicure. Better now before auditions when she had marginal amounts of free time. After auditions there would be no time.

Maki inhaled and squared her shoulders, then turned to face Nico. “I lost a bet with a student. They got to pick the song for my next TWIG stream.”

“Were you live?”

Maki shook her head, “Have to edit together all the parts I’m playing into one video.”

Nico nodded. “So you are thorough when losing bets.”

Maki’s lips pursed as her eyes unfocused, then she slid onto the stool near the synth, rolling the water bottle between her hands, “I am thorough with music.”

“Nico looks forward to what you do with her lyrics.” Nico pointed to the script. When Maki didn’t immediately rescue it, Nico knelt down, picked it up and offered it to Maki, who refused to make eye contact. After a minute, Nico tossed it on the chair.

“There’s not enough time.”

“Nico did most of the work. The lyrics are catchy and pretty simple. And it’s a staged reading so Nico can prioritize the must have songs for you.”

Intense amethyst eyes finally met Nico’s glance, “Don’t you have a composer you’d rather work with?”

Nico took the single armchair, “Nico did research. You haven’t done much, but everyone says you’re very promising. Nico thinks that’s a good sign. Nico believes in serendipity.”

“Serendipity?”

“Happy accidents. Things that make Nico smile. Like saving you from getting taken out by a car. There’s a reason we met.”

Maki held out her hand. Nico placed the script in it. Maki rifled through the pages.

“Nico can act it out for you.”

“I can read.” Maki put the script down, “I’ll look at it later.”

“And then call Nico.”

“I text.”

“Fine. Text. Nico’s emoticon game is the envy of sixteen year olds.”

“Is that a good thing?”

Helps teaching if I at least know the lingo.”

“Makes sense.”

“My little brother is 15. And he’s a texter too.”

“Oh.”

“It’s amazing how even in this AR world, words scrolling across a screen are still such a draw.” Nico continued to examine the large music studio. A gleaming piano behind a beautifully brush painted screen, a Nerf hoop, a dartboard, a museum quality ceramic vase with gorgeous flowers, a medicine ball, a screen with a video game console, a stack of hats, and an empty pizza box. Definitely an eclectic aesthetic. Although Nico was pretty certain it was a random series of choices, not a cleverly casual but oh so expensive decorating theme.

“AR?”

“Augmented reality. Someday, Nico’s going to use that kind of tech for the ghosts or some horror thriller play. Immersive audience experience.”

“Oh, those clunky headsets.” Maki got less interested.

“Not into hi tech?”

“Not into not touching.” Maki waved a hand through the air, then air played a piano keyboard, “I like heft and weight and resistance.”

“Nico will remember.” Nico stood up, “Are you free for dinner.”

“Huh?”

“You have to eat. It doesn’t sound like you’ve gotten around Tudor much. Nico knows a few places. I could give you a tour. What’s your favorite type of restaurant.”

“Italian.”

“Nico knows a pizza place that’s a little too expensive for the average student. Very ambient.”

“Not a word.”

“It is.”

“Not the right word.”

Nico shrugged and offered Maki a hand, “It works. And Nico won’t pitch A Christmas Carol until after dessert.”

“Deal.” Maki took Nico’s hand and let the newly declared tour guide pull her up.

###

No, of course, Shizuku Osaka hadn’t been looking for Kasumi Nakusa on her way to dinner at one of her favorite restaurants. Yes, Kasumi might have posted a “going for a late run” TWIG post and yes, the route to that restaurant might follow the tree lined path Kasumi liked to run along. But since Shizuku had been looking the other way when the bright eyed, fair haired actor called out “Shizuko!” she could credibly pull off a look of surprise.

Kasumi, who could be so put together and top tier fashionable, could also pull off a very feminine sporty look, like today. A tight fitting pink hoodie with a cute bear pattern, striped leggings, sparkly kicks, and short askew hair under a rainbow cycling cap made exercise adorable.

“Hi, Kasumi. Isn’t it cold for running?”

“Kasumin keeps warm.” She glanced at her smart watch, “Almost done, time to cool down.”

“You could walk me to Genovo’s. You must be hungry. I’ll buy you a salad.”

Kasumi frowned, then shook her head, sweat flying from her hair, and laughed, “You’ll buy pizza.”

“Okay.”

Kasumi stretched briefly. “So what brings you out from the dustiest shelves of the library?”

Shizuku shrugged. “No food allowed.”

“Send me a message; Kasumin will smuggle some in.”

“Didn’t you get kicked out of the library for being loud?”

Kasumi snorted, “I reported that library aide to the Chief Bookkeeper…”

Shizuku held back a giggle at Chief Bookkeeper. Kasumi was watching her for a reaction and Shizuku wasn’t going to give her one.

“Oh hey,” Kasumi pulled Shizuku down the path, “There’s Nico! Isn’t she the cutest. Professors shouldn’t really be that cute.”

Shizuku demurred on the question of cuteness, but watching Nico walking along, listening, next to a tall redhead, dressed in much less stylish fashion, Shizuku couldn’t help but be amused by the similar contrast to her own walk companion.

“Hey, Nico!!!” Kasumi shouted, waving.

Shizuku pulled Kasumi back, hissing, “Don’t yell.”

“But it’s…”

“Maybe she’s on a date.”

“That doesn’t look like a date.” Kasumi pointed to the two people now out of shouting distance, “She probably just ran into a friend, like you.”

Shizuku bit her lip, “C’mon, I’ll buy you coffee and sandwich instead.”

“Why...pizza sounded good. And I can ask Nico about Scrooge.”

Shizuku knew that dinner with Kasumi would involve a boasting match about who would have a better Christmas pageant audition, but she didn’t want to add the director of the pageant into the chat as well. Shizuku spun on her heel, heading back to the fringe of campus, turning Kasumi’s hold on her arm against her, “Coffee. Sandwich. And no audition talk.”

“No audition talk if you sing a duet with Kasumin while we walk.”

“Why?”

“Want to practice. Nico’s play is full of duets.” Kasumi hummed and spun, “Kasumin needs someone on her level to make it a challenge.”

On her level. That was something, Shizuku thought, a recognition that they might be...compatible on some level. Shizuku let Kasumi’s hand drop. “Fine. But I pick.”

“You know Kasumin’s range, right?”

“Of course.”

“And make it from this century.”

Shizuku feigned offense, “Never.”

Kasumi shook her head in fond exasperation, but then half bowed in front of Shizuku, hand sweeping out in a grand gesture, sakura eyes sparkling, “So what does the lovely lady wish to be serenaded with?”

Shizuku let the giggles out this time. Kasumi joined in.

###

Tall, blonde, blue eyes with hesitancy hidden deep, curves Nozomi might have calculated the probable dimensions of...and she was back. Nozomi stood up from where she was leaning on the display case and moved back to the counter, a wide smile on her face.

“Cheat day?”

Blonde and beautiful shook her head sadly, “Just wanted to get out of my dance studio. The walls are starting to talk back to me. A peppermint tea, please.” Another serious scan of the menu, “‘I’ll take a cup of your chicken and wild rice soup.”A shy smile, “Dinner. No time to go shopping.”

“What’s got ya so busy, Eli?” Nozomi noted the slight blush as she spoke the other woman’s name.

“Deciding which of my students to assign choreography to.”

“Take a seat.” Nozomi pointed to the coziest corner. “I’ll bring your food over. It’s been a quiet afternoon.”

“Thanks.” Eli glanced at the numbers on the register and slid her card through, adding a generous tip.

“You’re welcome.” Nozomi whirled off to assemble a tray, hoping to have a minute to continue to talk before more customers stopped in. Nolt was on cleaning duty for the next hour so Nozomi had solo counter duty.

Eli sat and wearily set out a stack of index cards. The first one she took a pencil to had Peanut Brittle Brigade written at the top in marker.

“Here you go.” Eli glanced up, Nozomi sat across from her, the tray in between them, and took the top index card off the pile.

“Toot Toot Tootie Toot?”

Eli sighed, “It’s also known as ‘Dance Of The Reed Pipes.”

“Who are Elsa and Jax?”

“Two of my independent study students. I have to decide which students to assign which Ellington pieces to.”

“Ellington.”

“Duke Ellington.” Eli said slowly, “Nico agreed with Nishikino about using his music for the pageant. So I have to start over.’

“Interesting.”

“Frustrating…”

“No, I meant…” After a pause, Nozomi put the card back, and slid the soup in front of Eli, “I’m sure you’ll do what’s best for your students. Actually eating usually helps with thinking.”

“Yeah.” Eli tilted her head, adjusted her ponytail and her goofy, good natured half grin was almost adorable enough to make Nozomi cancel the lurid fantasies she was going to indulge in later.

The door was pushed open and Shizuku walked through, Kasumi holding the door open as she continued a rant, “They better not be out of that really really good toasty bread Nozomi uses for her grilled cheese. I’m skipping out on pizza for you, Shizuko, but Kasumin still needs her melty melty mozzarella.”

Shizuku clucked in a soothing fashion, “I’m sure Nozomi keeps a stash just for you.”

“Of course, Kasumin is her cutest customer.”

Nozomi laughed. Eli was puzzled.

“Kasumi and Nico are going to arm wrestle for the cutest customer slot someday.” Nozomi whispered.

Eli glanced at Kasumi, “She’s tiny too. It wouldn’t be much of a fight.”

“They’re both mighty fighty.” Nozomi was amused to see Shizuku leaning into Kasumi to look at today’s specials chalked on the counter.

“And that’s cute?”

“If you ask them.”

“And if I asked you?” Eli bit the end of her pencil.

Nozomi winked before she rushed to the counter to intercept Kasumi, “I’ll tell you on cheat day, Eli-chi. Have fun.”

###

Maki, relishing their shared bruschetta appetizer with such ravenous enthusiasm that Nico had demurred after only one piece, looked around the room after cleaning the plate. Low lighting, jazz from a small combo, candles at the table. Nico was pleased with the ambiance. The live music was a bonus. She wondered if she could request ‘Satin Doll.’

“Much better than the coffeeshop.” Maki announced loudly enough to draw attention from the next table.

Nico nodded, making a mental note as Maki continued, eyes throwing amethyst sparks when they caught the candlelight, “More tomatoes, fewer candy canes.”

“Still upset about the tripping?”

“Huh?”

“When we met? You practically fell into Nico’s arms. And your score went…” Nico threw up her arms, “Couple of days ago?”

“Oh.” Maki licked her top lip. Nico wondered if a taste of tomato had lingered, “No, it’s not about that. Candy canes are a Christmas thing…” Maki ran her fingers through her hair, head turned to the side.

“And you don’t like Christmas things?”

Maki shook her head.

“Too much coal in your stocking as a young delinquent?”

That got Maki’s attention, “I was a valedictorian, not a delinquent.”

“Okay, genius. Nico heard you were a doctor.”

“Didn’t finish med school.”

“Why not?”

Maki pushed her hair back over her ear, staring behind Nico, whispering dreamily, “I confide in the piano the things that I sometimes want to say to you.”

Nico, surprised, squeaked, “To Nico?”

Maki, surprised, blushed and began to race through words, hands flailing, water glass leaning precariously until Nico rescued it. “No, no...Chopin said that, in a letter, to a friend…”

“A friend friend?” Nico guessed, smirking.

Maki grimaced, “Frederick Chopin wrote what were probably love letters to men, a boyhood friend from school, but Poland erased the...gay parts.”

“Like Poland does.” Nico rolled her eyes. Poland was not joining the rest of the EU protecting LGBTQ rights and voices. They had a long history of discrimination. Nico let anger color her voice. “Let people love. Let kids grow up and know who their heroes actually were.”

“Yes.” Maki leaned forward a little, less self conscious now that they had moved onto a less personal discussion. “You can’t just erase people’s lives and loves.”

“So many students are still so closeted, even now. They need to know people lived, people live full, fully queer lives. Nico helps whenever she can. If you’re here, come to my Friendsgiving party.”

“Friendsgiving?”

“Nico hosts a party for students and faculty who don’t go home. We eat, watch movies, play games.”

“Sounds fun.”

“It is.”

Their dinners had arrived. Nico let the conversation lull so they could eat. Maki obviously took her Italian food seriously and Nico didn’t want to lose the convivial mood. A whisper to the waiter had ‘Satin Doll’ playing. Maki looked up at that.

“Nico’s favorite. I couldn’t resist.”

Maki smiled, “Good choice.”

Nico decided to venture a question, “So was the ‘you’ a bad breakup? Over Christmas?”

Maki’s jaw set, her eyes narrowed and the sharp tightness of her mouth was mood: barbed wire barricade. She lifted another bite of Spaghetti Pomodoro to her mouth, chewing slowly, staring at her plate. “Can we talk about something else?”

So yes, the ‘you’ was a Christmas breakup. So that was part of the problem. At least A Christmas Carol wasn’t centered around Scrooge’s love of anything but money.

“Nico is planning a full slate of Victorian games, to get everyone excited about A Christmas Carol.”

“It’s not after dessert.”

“You demanded Nico change the topic so we’re skipping ahead.”

Maki’s eyes widened at Nico’s peremptory tone, but she nodded.

“I’ll read it tomorrow.”

“Start with the Scrooge-Marley duet. It’s the heart of everything.”

‘How?”

“Marley comes back to make Scrooge change his heart, so he doesn’t suffer like Marley has. And Scrooge actually listens to Marley, instead of kicking him out like everybody else.”

“So?” Maki was obviously more into pasta than Nico’s point.

“He drags his ghostly fetters off of the eternal Purgatory treadmill to tell Scrooge to get on Team Human. And sends three other spirits. That’s a lot of investment. Do you have any friends who would do that for you?” Nico thought that hit a good level of passionate persuasion.

Unimpressed, Maki tapped her fork against the plate. “My friends wouldn’t have to do that for me. People don’t scorn me on the streets. I’m not kicking orphans and widows. I’m donating to food banks and bail funds and medical research.”

“Okay, Bill Gates, you’re good. But in Dickens’ fictional universe, Jacob Marley is all Scrooge has.”

Maki knew there was somebody, a nephew, “Fred. He has Fred.”

“And he can’t stand Fred. But Marley was his friend. His sole friend. His singular person in the world. And Marley was gone. And then he’s back.”

Maki pointed an accusatory utensil. “You made it gay.”

“No. I didn’t make it gay.”

“Sounds gay.”

Nico sighed, “You have friends, right?”

Maki nodded.

“It’s not always about the gay, right?”

Maki’s expression was interesting.

“Explain that look to Nico.”

Maki shook her head, “Can’t.”

“Fine, Nico will have to meet these friends. But Scrooge and Marley...well, they didn’t talk about guys or girls….they talked about GOLD.”

Maki nodded, Nico had a point. Scrooge was definitely more into profit than pleasure. But was that deferral? Had he met Marley and then drifted from Belle?

Nico cut off Maki’s next comment. “But Nico did not make Marley coming back to save Scrooge gay. Guaranteed. No homo.”

Maki had this serious look on her face, leaning forward, chin in hand, eyes thoughtful, “I think I’d like it better if you did.”

“Urrrggghhh.” Nico ripped her napkin off the table, “Just read Nico’s play. Then this would be so much easier.”

Maki was a calm pond Nico couldn’t ripple. “But I like Dickens. The language has vigor. And I like gay.”

Nico wanted breadsticks to snap. “You’re just trolling Nico.”

Maki’s half shrug was all exasperating charm, “Did you request any other songs?”

“No.”

“Let’s go someplace else for dessert.”

Nico waved at the waiter, curious. “Okay.”

###

Nico had never walked through this part of Tudor, near the railroad tracks, lots of repurposed urban loft style architecture. Maki kept up a quick pace, obviously familiar with the sidewalks.

“Where are we going?”

Maki turned her head, “You said you wanted to meet my friends.”

“Are we taking a train?”

Maki shook her head, “Nah. I live in this neighborhood. And conveniently, Bread and Brew is right down the block.”

Nico had heard of Bread and Brew, but with her apartment on the other end of town, she never spent time in this neighborhood. It seemed grungy or steampunk, definitely not collegiate cute and quaint like the shops around Market and the Square. Nico liked collegiate cute, but as she watched Maki stride confidently ahead, Nico admitted to being intrigued.

Bread and Brew looked closed, all lights off. Nico was about to say something when Maki ducked down an alley, leaned down and knocked a quick tempo on the metal door of the cellar. It took a minute, but the door opened up and a ginger head poked up, “MAKI!” booming out.

Not much quieter was the ��Who’s that?”

“Nico. Umi knows her.”

“Oh, okay. Hi, Nico, nice to meet you. Cute outfit. Come on in. We’ve got some pumpkin ale left.”

“Did you bring me to a speakeasy?” Nico whispered to Maki.

Maki grinned and headed down the stairs, Nico following, what sounded like a samba playing. The metal door slammed behind them and Nico heard a “sorry” as the ginger bounded by them and the samba suddenly had a drum rhythm as well as maracas. And then the singing started. Was that Umi Sonoda? Wow. Nico knew Umi taught violin and conducting classes, but her burnished alto was that of a vocalist with serious training.

There were a handful of tables and chairs, a couple of couches, a cuddle of loveseats, surrounding a small stage. On stage were Umi at a mic, the doorkeeper on drums, another, shorter ginger playing maracas, and a bespectacled woman with banjo, and a baby grand. A tapped keg stood on a bench with a few mugs. A fawn haired woman sat alone at the center table, dressed like she was front row at a Paris Fashion Week runway. Maki headed for that one, tapping on the wood to distract the audience from the singer, “Kotori, meet Nico; Nico, Kotori.” And then Maki hurried to the piano to join in.

“What is this place?” Nico asked.

“Oh, Umi likes to sing and Honoka…”

“Honoka?”

Kotori pointed to the drummer, “doesn’t have a liquor license yet, so we try out new batches and the musicians have jam sessions occasionally.”

It was a speakeasy.

Umi stepped back from the mic, consulting with Maki. Another samba rhythm started, and as Umi swayed, her ombre blue back swing skirt that picked up all the shades in her hair gracefully moved in time with the music.

“That’s a gorgeous dress.” Nico whispered. Umi’s usual wardrobe was exquisitely cut business suits.

A giggle. “Thanks.”

“Yours?”

“My design.”

“Do you have a boutique?”

“An atelier.”

“Why doesn’t Nico know?”

“It’s in New York. I’m back for the holidays.”

“Lucky Nico. You have to show me your latest.”

Kotori had a lovely smile, but Nico didn’t get used to it, because after a soft hum of agreement, all Kotori’s focus was back on Professor Sonoda, who was flirting with the drummer in a coy fashion that knocked Nico sideways. She noticed scrutiny and glanced toward the piano. Maki had been watching her, but glanced away as soon as Nico paid attention. The super cute maracas player kept tilting into the equally cute, seemingly shyer banjo player. This was obviously the gay speakeasy of Nico’s dreams. Well, if they played some current songs. And the bango switched to a bass. Nico thought she might have seen that woman on campus, but both gingers were new faces. Nico sat back, fascinated.

###

As Umi approached the table, Nico whistled. Umi blushed and sat next to Kotori, Nico guessed their hands were joined under the table.

“That was amazing. Nico didn’t know you had that in you.”

Umi shrugged, “Playing with friends is fun. And relaxing. The ability to experiment sharpens my skills for teaching.”

Maki was onstage, still playing samba rhythms, totally focused on the piano. All of the other musicians had drifted off, talking to friends among the small audience.

The drummer swept up with a tray of drinks, “I promised you a pumpkin ale, new friend Nico. Here you go.”

Nico took a mug. Beer wasn’t her favorite, but if that was the group’s taste, Nico was in. She wanted another invite so it was time to turn on the charm and find out more about this basement club the most conservative member of the faculty seemed to be running. Honoka pulled a chair up next to Umi, and slid her arm around in an embrace.

Nico raised her glass in salute. “This is cozy, Nico approves.”

“If you want to come back, you’ll have to give us a song.” Maki was standing behind Nico. “I’ll play.”

“Ooohh, that’s a great idea, Maki! Is Nico a professor too?” Honoka bounced in her seat.

“Nico chairs drama and performance.” Nico was proud of her job.

Honoka pulled her face into a serious mask and intoned, “To be or not to be…”

“Nico prefers musicals.”

“Oh, you’re the director Umi always talks about.” Kotori rested her head on Umi’s shoulder.

Nico turned to face Umi, “You talk about Nico?”

Umi coughed, “I have enjoyed your perspective on staging and often mention to Kotori that she should consider helping us out.”

“That would be amazing. Your dress is…” Nico chef kissed the air.

“Umi just wants Kotori to spend more time here in Tudor.” Honoka downed a mug.

Umi arched an eyebrow, “Would you complain?”

Nico felt a tap on her shoulder, Maki, impatient, a grumpy cute frown crunching her lips.

“Song.”

“Guess Nico will have to sing for her dinner.” Nico sighed with a fake dramatic flair.

“Dessert.” Maki corrected.

“Lead the way, maestra.” Nico slid her arm through Maki’s. The pianist jumped.

Maki shook Nico off and rushed to the piano.

Nico leaned over the side of the keyboard. “What do you know?”

Maki rolled her eyes, “Probably more than you. What do you know?”

Nico shrugged, letting Maki’s bravado break around her. “You like Ellington, right? Play “Tulip or Turnip.” And Nico hummed a few bars, the notes low in her throat capturing her accompanist’s entire attention.

Maki blinked, “Okay.”

And Nico owned the room. Maki barely kept up and for once, kinda wished she could look up from her keyboard, but she had offered to play for Nico and she was darn well going to do the best job her memory and ear could manage. As Nico sang “champagne or just home brew,” Honoka guffawed at something Nico did and Maki’s concentration almost broke. When the song was over and Maki finally glanced at the singer, Nico was perched on the arm of a couch, the entire room completely under her thrall.

“So” Nico stood, stretching toward the ceiling, then jumping down to the floor, “does Nico get a return ticket?”

“NICO NICO NICO” Honoka started chanting, stomping enough to shake the table, soon joined by the maracas player. Nico seemed taller...or glowier...or…

“And some love for Nico’s accompanist.” Nico clapped for Maki, skipping over to kiss her on the cheek, “Nico hasn’t had that much fun in years. Thanks!”

And then Nico spun back to the center table, sliding between Kotori and Umi to chatter at them. And before Maki could decide what to do next, Rin was there, pulling Maki back to her table, “So who’s Nico?”

“Professor. Wants me to compose for her.”

Hanayo was sipping from a mug, “Oh, the Christmas pageant. That sounds…”

Maki hadn’t realized she was growling.

“Sorry.” Hanayo squeaked.

“Maki, you have to get over it. You got over Santa…”

“Shut up, Rin.”

Rin did not shut up, “You can get over…”

Maki shoved Rin.

“C’mon, Maki. We’re your friends. You came here to spend more time with us and less time in your gloomy apartment.”

“I came here to play the piano.”

“”Cause Kayo-chin told you to.”

“Rin!” Hanayo put a hand on her wife’s arm, “Leave Maki alone. We’re having fun tonight.

Rin leaned into her wife, rubbing her cheek against Hanayo’s arm like a cat. “We are. That was awesome.” Rin sat up and pointed, “And Umi’s going do another. ‘Cause Kotori’s here. Umi’s always happy when Kotori’s here.”

Center stage again, Umi began.

Some like a night at the movies Some like a dance or a show Some are content with an evening spent Home by the radio Some like to live for the moment Some like to just reminisce But whenever I have an evening to spend Just give me one like this

“This is a lovely way to spend an evening” Sotte voce and in full agreement, Maki joined the chorus.

A/N: Well, I had been on the fence about adding in Kasumi and Shizuku and decided no, but then the Niji anime 1st season ended and I realized they were going in. So there will be another chapter, maybe two.

Also, stay safe out there for many reasons.

[underoossss]

Dancing Under The Rain - H.O

Prologue

pairing: Detective!Harrison x female!reader

words: 1.5k

AN: Hello everyone, spooky season has begun with me scaring myself with a new story idea after months of writer’s block and being SO SELF CONSCIOUS of everything I wrote. This idea came to me out of nowhere and I talked to some friends about it which helped me get the confidence I needed to start writing it. This will probably have 5 chapters in total, each of them is kind of like a time skip. This was also inspired by the song RAIN by Ben Platt, hence the title, and it’s about two people who have shut everyone out and are scared of opening up to the one person who might understand what they’ve been through. Harrison and the reader are around their late 20′s early 30′s and the town I used is fictional of course. I hope you enjoy it and I would love to read your comments on this short prologue I’ve written for you. (If someone wants to help me with a moldboard hmu)

----

Over the years you have learned the pros and cons of living in a small town.

The pros:

You can escape from your previous life, from anything that hurt you and start over. No one knows who you are or the past that seems to sometimes follow you like a shadow sometimes. It’s a fresh start and 4 years ago, that was exactly what you needed.

That’s how you ended up in Dewitt, three hours away from Cambridge where everywhere you went people look at you with pity in their eyes. It’s as if losing your brother hadn’t been enough, no, people had to remind you with every look and every how are you? What were you even supposed to say? Devastated would only make people worried and okay made them believe you’re lying to them. Either way you felt like shit, there wasn’t a place you could go that didn’t remind you of him so you did what anyone else would do. Pack up your things and move to a remote town close to the sea where no oneknew you.

The cons:

People talk. A lot.

Not that people aren’t nice, they are, well most of them. However, that doesn’t make them any less nosy or gets rid the river of gossip that inevitably flows when something different from the routine happens. You expected it going in, if word got around in Cambridge then it would certainly get around in Dewitt. Therefore you kept quiet about any personal details or stories, to them you were the psychology professor that owns the bookshop/café in Harold street. You drive up to Cambridge twice a week to lecture your students and Skype any of them who need office hours. During the summers you give online classes and put pastel blue tables outside your store for people to read or talk. To everyone there you were the nice young lady who makes some really nice coffee, who is always smiling and who tutors whoever needs help in science or English lit. Gossip is a plague though, one that no one can escape so that’s how find out a detective has moved into town. Richard Mensen has gone missing and it’s been a week since his family, or anyone else saw him. The local authorities haven’t gotten anywhere so they sent someone else to help.

You walk to the entrance of the bookstore and glance at the police station as a man steps out of a car and walks inside. Harrison Osterfield, the detective from London who you can tell already walks with a massive weight on his shoulders.

----

Everyone is looking, there are cameras and reporters and Harrison just wants to go home. Eight and a half months after arriving to Dewitt, the case was finally solved. Richard Mensen was dead, that they discovered three weeks after arriving. The next eight months that followed were about finding out who did it, why they’d done it and convicting them for ruining a family’s life. They were also full of judgement, Harrison should be used to it by now, but he’s not. His palms sweat and his heart beats too fast under the attention of everyone in the town, every look of disappointment they had sent his way for taking so long.

You do it, Harrison wanted to say, go and solve it if it’s that easy. He puts on a neutral face, his mask, and tries not to give away how terrified he is of fucking up someone else’s life because of his shortcomings. He hasn’t so far, but he lived in fear of it happening. It’s brought him sleepless nights trying to figure cases out, cost him relationships and his confidence. He is sure of one thing though, they got the right guy convicted and now he can go to his little house in the outskirts of town and sleep for ten days.

“The case has been closed, the killer was sentenced to life in prison around thirty minutes ago. We kindly request the press to let the affected family rest and finally deal with their grief at this time. The people of Dewitt can be in peace now, we consider this case to be an anomaly in the otherwise safe community they live in. That’s all I have to say.”

Harrison steps aside and leaves the reporters standing outside of the station as he takes off his tie and shoves it in the pocket of his navy blue suit. The cool spring breeze pushes his hair back as he walks along the sidewalk by the many stores in Harold street. He takes a deep breath, feeling the tension leave his shoulders and smelling freshly ground coffee. Your bookshop is right ahead, the red flowers by the window blooming beautifully under the spring sun and contrasting with the pale yellow of the storefront. Harrison checks his watch, 2:30pm, it’s a bit too late for a coffee but he didn’t drink his usual one this morning and he’d be dammed if he doesn’t take this excuse to see you.

You’re sitting on a table by a bookshelf when he steps into the shop, there’s some papers in front of you, a cup of tea far away from them and what looks like a blueberry muffin by your right hand. Your eyebrows are furrowed while you focus on the words in front of you, almost dropping the piece of muffin you bring to your mouth with a fork. Setting down the fork, you chew on the pastry as you grab a pen and scribble something on one of the papers. It’s only when someone clears their throat behind him that he realizes he’s been leaning on the doorway and staring at you for more than a couple of minutes.

His ears feel like they’re burning when he steps into the shop to let the other person in. It’s George, the owner of the convenience store, who gives him a nod as he walks towards the shelves in the back of the shop. Harrison mumbles a quick apology and walks towards the register where the drink menu is displayed.

“Detective Osterfield.” You smile, standing up when you notice him come into the bookshop. “How was the court this morning?”

“Please, Y/N, call me Harrison.” He feels himself smile as he shakes his head. The case was over so there are no need for formalities, he’d hate it if you only saw him as a professional doing his job whenever he came for coffee. He’s here to see you, the coffee is an added bonus. “Court went well, he got a sentence and the case is closed.”

“That’s good. I bet you’re looking forward to rest for a while.” You walk around the register and move to the expresso machine. “Your usual?”

“No, umm, if I drink coffee right now I won’t sleep and I really need a nap.” He scratches the back of his neck. Why is he always so nervous. He’s seen crime scenes and blood but he can’t talk to you without feeling like a teenager? “But maybe one of those chocolate cookies you’ve got there.”

“Oh! I’m sorry if I’m keeping you then, let me get that cookie for you.” You push your hair behind your ear as you grab a small paper bag and use a napkin to pick a cookie from the jar. “Here you go.”

Harrison can’t help but return the smile you give him and moves to take his wallet from his jacket. “No, you’re fine don’t worry. How much to I owe you?”

“Oh, nevermind that.” You chuckle, smoothing the white blouse you are wearing. “Take it as a thank you for making our town safer.”

Harrison’s ears burn once more, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.” You shrug, suddenly looking shy. “Are you, umm, staying in Dewitt? With the case being closed and all?”

Harrison hadn’t even thought about leaving, this town had become part of his routine and he dared say he’s grown fond of it. Not to mention he’d grown fond you. “Yeah, I’m staying.”

“Good, err, great... that’s nice.” You smile. “Would you like to take a walk down to the beach someday? It’s okay if you say no, don’t feel like you have to say yes because of the cookie, it’s not a bribe or anything I just-”

“Y/N.” Harrison stops your rambling stepping towards you. His heart is beating a mile a minute, you just asked him out. The broody shitty detective that takes eight months to figure out a case. He’s the luckiest shitty detective there is. “I’d love that.” He says, taking you hand.

“Really?” You smile, your eyes find his and he’s surprised to see his own. Eyes that smile but not all the way. Eyes that are hiding something painful that’s locked away in your heart.

“Yeah.” He smiles back, squeezing your hand with his before stepping back. “We can go whenever you want, just let me know.” Let me get to know you, he thinks. 

You nod your head and smile at him again, and he is almost certain that you will. It could take time, but he’s willing to wait until the moment you decide you will because he’ll try to do the same. 

----

tagging: @lovestruckhaz @parkerpuffwrites @deleteidentity @lonely--witch @the-claire-bitch-project @rachramblesstuff @peeterparkr @hollandharrison @angelhaz11 💓

[star-trashinum]

Shine for you, Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - A Faint Sparkle

Characters - Ruby Kurosawa/Mari Ohara

Tags - Slow burn, Romance, tags to be added as chapters progress

Description - Childhood friends, a puppy crush, blossoming into love.

Word Count - 2075

Notes - This will be my first multichap fic that’s more than just 2 chapter, and will also be about my own personal favourite rare pair.

I hope you enjoy it; comments and feedback would be wonderful!

(Italics indicate Mari’s English, and bold indicates texting

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Te o nobase! Sore kara nayame!

Te o nobase! Sore kara nayame!

         Mari flops down on the floor, much too exhausted for a spoiled rich girl after a particularly grueling Aqours practice. “Very exhausted!!!~” Mari screams, before rolling over to press her face to the concrete, hoping that the lack of sun in her eyes will help her cool by some magical feat. She feels a small tap on her shoulder, which she verifies is not a spider by the fact that she only feels it for that fraction of a second. Rolling back over, she looks to see a pair of big green eyes staring at her, which could have been one of two people. The bright red pigtails and the fact that she was closer to the ground gave it away, though.

         “U-Umm… Mari-oneechan… could I ask for something?” Ruby asks, recoiling the hand that poked Mari’s back as she turned over to face her, “I-I need your help with school.”

         “Why, of course, dear little Ruby!~” Mari exuberantly replies, sitting right back up, “what seems to be ailing you, little child; does someone need to be taken care of?” Mari’s question was more comedic than serious, but knowing her status and what she had power over, it was scary to think about the things she actually could do.

         “W-Wha-- N-no no; no one needs to be taken care of!!” Ruby explains, wondering in her head what the whole ‘taken care of’ thing meant, “I meant t-that I needed help studying; everyone is really busy, but Ruby knows that you speak English, a-and she wanted to ask… if you could help her with homework…” Mari blinks astoundedly for a second; sure, she was chairwoman, but… school tended to be a ‘do it last minute to barely pass’ sort of thing. Oh well, Ruby was quite cute about it, and it was true that she was at least passingly familiar with English to lend a hand.

         “Why of course, my dear Ruby; mama Mari’s always here to help!” Mari happily tells her as she pulls out her phone, pulling up a calendar, “Hmmm… I should be alright at any time on days we don’t have practice, chairwoman things can always be adjusted; just text me when you’re free!”

         “O-Ok Mari-oneechan… thank you.”

---

Ganbaruby -

- hey mariiii

- im free tomorrow do you want to meet somewhere; i need help with understanding my homework for an upcoming test

Shiiiny -

- of course!!!

- Do you want to meet up at one of the cafes near the hotel? The whole thing will be on me; i just wanna help you study \owo/

Ganbaruby -

- O ok thank u so much

- ill see u then!!

---

         Getting off the bus, Ruby quickly makes her way to the massive seaside hotel, still not used to the sheer size of it and how her friend just… casually lived in it… because she owned it. Making her way through the massive and heavy glass doors, she surveys around the foyer, before finding an elegantly designed sign above a door, reading ‘Cafe - Cazzo di Caffetteria’. The cafe’s decor is quite rustic and simple, but its elegance speaks volumes; polished and meticulously built wooden furniture dots the floor of the cafe. Low hanging lamps with yellowed bulbs cast the most beautiful of shadows on the brick-walled room, giving off an extremely home-y look. State of the art espresso machines, French presses and hand-cranked grinders make up the front station, along with an array of shelves filled with coffee beans, cutlery and anything you’d ever need and more for a cafe. A curved glass display case houses an assortment of small cakes and cookies, along with sandwiches for people looking for a small snack. The dimly lit and warm tones of the room, along with the menagerie of hotel guests gives an extremely fancy vibe, and Ruby is almost too intimidated to enter before a familiar, shrill voice calls to her.

         “Oh, I’m here, Ruby!!~” Mari calls out, waving incessantly as she distracts some of the customers near her, “Now let’s get started on your work, and let good ol’ Mari here help you with your work!” Ruby walks over towards Mari’s table, setting her bag down beside her chair as she sits down onto the chair; wooden and heavy, contrasted with a lovely plush seat cover. The heavy cardstock menu is overflowing with menu items, a literal half of the menu dedicated to just different ways to take your coffee. The items have their English names written in beautiful painstakingly drawn calligraphy, and Ruby can barely make out the word ‘Coffee’ before giving up to read the Japanese titles given on the menus. “See anything you like, Ruby-chan?” Mari kindly asks, gesturing to the menu that Ruby is meticulously scanning through, “since this cafe is part of the hotel, you can order whatever you’d like on the menu, in the house!~”

         “M-Mari-oneechan… isn’t the saying ‘on the house’?” Ruby responds, confused now by both the large assortment of coffees and Mari’s english, “a-and i have my choice, s-so we can order now.” Mari looks into mind, realizing that, yes, the term ‘in the house’ is very incorrect; blushing at the embarrassment of messing up the language she was about to teach Ruby. Mari waves over to a barista that’s currently polishing one of the coffee cups, and clears her throat as the barista pulls out a pen and notepad from her apron.

         “What can I get you two today?”

         “Y-yes, can I get a dark roast with three sugars and two shots of espresso and a lemon tart,” Mari responds, giving the barista her usual order; tailored perfectly to the eccentric, energetic blonde, “and what will you have, Ruby?”

         “Oh… um… right… c-can Ruby have a warm milk tea… green tea please… and a s-strawberry shortcake,” Ruby calls out, making sure to check over her order multiple times, before nodding to give the barista the OK. The barista finishes jotting down the order before heading back to their station, starting up their order. Wanting to get down to buisness, Ruby reaches down to her bag, pulling out her English textbook, along with a pastel pink notebook, covered in little doodles of flowers along the front page. “S-So, the test I have upcoming is about verbs and adjectives, and I have a bunch of practice problems, s-so Mari-oneechan can help with those…” Ruby explains, opening her textbook up to a set of problems, “will that be OK with you?”

         Mari looks at Ruby’s book; sure, she knew what all the words meant… sorta… but putting them together into well-crafted, organized sentences? That wasn’t Shiny enough. To be shiny was to express yourself in how shiny you were, not some grammatically correct nonsense that wouldn’t dare to capture the shininess of it all. She would manage, though; helping little Ruby would have to come first.

"Of course!! You know, I'm very good at English, if you could tell," Mari reminds her, flashing up her trademark 'OK!!~' symbol with her hand, "let's get one of these questions done so I know what we're working with, no?" Ruby nods in agreement, flipping through the textbook to a pre-bookmarked page, preparing herself by taking out a silver-colored mechanical pen. "Y-Yeah, that sounds good… O-OK, here’s a good one to start with,” Ruby begins, hovering the pencil towards the instructions, then to the first sample sentence, “add an adjective that best fits the sentence; ‘The kitten is very ___.’” Ruby looks towards a box of sample words on the bottom of that page, trying to think of the word that would best fit a small animal. “Do you think ‘cute’ would describe a kitten, Mari-oneechan?” Ruby asks, cocking her head to the side.

“I think the kitten would be shiny!” Mari answers, feeling confident in her words before looking towards a very confused Ruby, “Think about it; both you and the kitten are small and adorable, and Ruby is very shiny, therefore; ‘The kitten is very shiny.” Mari puts on a high and triumphant face, closing her eyes to appreciate how concrete her reasoning was for the kitten to be shiny. The self-appreciation goes away quickly as she looks to her pupil, who is bright red and almost shaking in embarrassment. Mari leans in to look at the embarrassed mess in front of her, realizing that she had just accidentally hit on one of her childhood friends, more specifically, the little sister of her very protective childhood friend. “Y-You alright, Ruby?” Mari sheepishly questions, trying to gauge how she should handle the immense awkwardness sitting right in front of her, “sorry that I just said that all willy-nilly, did I frighten ya?”

“Y-Yeah... I'm all good, y-you just caught me off guard, t-that’s all…” Ruby tells Mari, fidgeting, as if to say something,  “It’s just... all the words come from a word bank… and the word shiny isn't in there, Mari-oneechan.” The two sit in a state of deafening silence, not able to form any coherent words until the barista comes with a large platter with their orders.

“An order for Miss Ohara and her friend,” the waitress announces, before setting the dishes on the table for the two girls, “if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask, Miss Ohara.” Mari gives the barista a nod, before giving her a wave of thanks; she would be sure to ask later to take the dishes away, if she could remember what her name was. There were a lot of staff members at the hotel, and brown, short hair was all too common. She purses her lips, only coming to the conclusion that her named started in an S.

Ruby clasped her hands together, eyes shining in delight as she looked at her order, “Wow Mari, this all looks so exquisite; it looks almost too good to eat!” She gives a silent nod of thanks before taking her fork to the cake, parting both the spongy cake and the decadent filling to make a small piece for herself. Stabbing the shortcake, Ruby’s eyes light up at she takes her first bite, a mumbled squee of approval as she chews and takes in the flavour of the treat. “-chew chew- It’s so sweet and fluffy Mari, you should give it a try!” Ruby exclaims, cutting off another small piece of her cake, as she extends her arm to hand her a piece of her dessert. Truth be told, Mari had tested every single item on this menu, but Ruby's request was so cute that she couldn’t resist. Momentarily blushing, Mari leans over as she takes the small piece off the fork with her lips, remembering full well how delicious that particular cake was.

“Fluffy and cute, and particularly sweet too, just perfect for Ruby,” Mari thinks, finishing up the small bite, before realizing exactly what she had thought, “wait what am I thinking she’s like a sister-- oh god I used her fork for that Dia will kill me.” Mari momentarily panicked, hoping that Ruby wouldn’t notice the indirect lip contact as the girl took another bite out of her cake. Taking a sip from her dangerously caffeinated beverage, Mari watches as Ruby cutely furrows her brow in concentration. She looks back and forth between her notes and the book, before letting out a small huff.

“Is everything alright, little Ruby?” Mari worriedly asks, concerned by Ruby’s somewhat upset face.

“Y-Yeah… just confused on how you would use some of these words,” Ruby admits, writing a sentence out, before erasing it shortly after, “M-Mari-oneechan, could you help Ruby out here?”

Ruby actually really trusted in her to teach her, huh?

If it was one of the members of her subunit, they would've already known the pretense that working Mari brought; but Ruby really depended on her, probably because of how long they've know each other.

That was it, right? Mari gives a small chuckle,as she stand up out of her chair, causing Ruby to look suddenly up from her book as she sees Mari turn around to pick up her chair. With a newfound, confident stride, she walks the wooden chair and places it beside Ruby, before sitting back down. "Sorry for joking around earlier, little Ruby, this time good ol' Mari-oneechan is gonna really help with your homework, ok?" Mari announced, watching Ruby give a smile in response, "Good; let's get to it, shall we?"

[mosylufanfic]

The Cake is a Lie

Okay, so this entire piece of AU fluff was inspired by a customer-service horror story I read (link at the end) so anyone who’s about to @me saying this could never happen - you have obviously never worked in retail.

Also, all the bakery details are based on misty memories of working in a supermarket bakery lo these many years ago, so please correct me on any inaccuracies.

The Cake is a Lie

Cassian Andor frowned, double-checked his phone's GPS, and looked back up at the sign over the display window. Stardust Bakery. He was in the right place.

He adjusted his scarf and sighed. He'd gone into law school determined to right wrongs, to fight for the little guy, to make the world a better place. And now, ten years later, where was he?

Bringing frivolous lawsuits against small business owners on behalf of a large, soulless corporation.

He reminded himself, as always, that he still had astronomical school loans to pay back. And also that this particular small business owner had defrauded a would-be customer, and fraud was still illegal no matter who was doing it to whom.

He adjusted his scarf again and pushed the door open.

A bell jingled cheerily, and a wave of warm, bread-scented air rolled out at him. He took a deep, involuntary breath and heard his stomach growl. God, it smelled good.

The shop was tiny, the walls all lined with shelves and racks of different baked goods, except for a nook where two wrought-iron tables and four chairs were crammed next to a window. A menu mounted on the wall explained all the different kinds of toppings he could get on a bagel from 6 am to 10 am, and a coffee to go with it. Cassian regretted that it was 10:30, then told himself sternly that he was here for his job, not a snack.

The man behind the counter looked up from where he was bagging bagels behind the counter. "Hey there," he called out. "Welcome to Stardust. Would you like to try a sample of our cinnamon raisin bread?"

"No, thank you," Cassian said over his still-growling stomach. "I need to speak to the owner."

"Jyn? She's putting loaves in the proofing box - it could be a few minutes - "

"I'll wait."

"Okay," he said rather meekly. "So, uh, today's specials are - "

"I don't intend to buy anything," Cassian said as gently and professionally as he could.

"Oh-okay. Uh. What is this regarding?"

He fished in his pocket and held out a business card. "My name is Cassian Andor. I'm a lawyer. I represent Empire Holdings, LLC, and in this particular case, I also represent Mrs. Palpatine, the wife of the CEO."

The man's dark eyes went huge. He took the card and disappeared into the back.

At least they seemed to know how much trouble they were in.

Cassian stood waiting quietly, trying to keep his eyes from straying over the various different loaves of bread - challah, marble rye, sourdough - the fat bagels still in the baskets - chocolate chip, banana nut, onion - the paper-wrapped muffins on trays in a glass case - apple nut, glazed strawberry, lemon poppyseed.

His mouth watered.

He took a few steps away from the counter and found himself studying a rack of jewel-toned preserves in cut-glass jars - apple jelly, peach jam, orange marmalade. The paper labels said Guardian Farms, with a local address.

A little fridge hummed next to the rack, and when he looked inside, it was full of paper-wrapped lumps with the same logo. Butter, the labels said, salted and unsalted, and cream cheese.

From the back, there was a mighty thud and a woman's voice said, "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

A murmur that was almost certainly the man.

"Of all the motherfucking wastes of my time - " The voice got louder and Cassian looked over in time to see a dark-haired woman storm out from behind the counter and right up to him.

He stood his ground, knowing better than to be intimidated even if she was surprisingly terrifying for someone six inches shorter than him, with flour on her outthrust chin, and enormous green-grey eyes and a pouty little mouth and -

Anyway.

She glared up at him. "Cassian Andor?"

"Jyn Erso, I presume." Owner and head baker, in spite of her apparent youth.

She waved his card in front of his nose. "Are you really a lawyer or did you get a diploma off the internet?"

His eyes narrowed. "I'm really a lawyer."

From somewhere behind her, the man said, "Jyn, maybe you two should sit down somewhere."

"Bodhi, I've got this."

Bodhi, Cassian noted. The name of the man mentioned in the suit. No wonder he looked green.

Something scraped against the floor, and Bodhi said more firmly, "Sit down. Please. Both of you."

When Cassian tore his eyes away from Jyn's, he saw that Bodhi had pulled out two chairs from one of the tables. He said, "That's a good idea," and forced himself to step away, taking one of the chairs.

"Coffee!" Bodhi said brightly.

"Bodhi, for fuck's sake - "

"That's not - "

But Bodhi was already gone, fussing over two carafes on the counter. Jyn looked a little helpless in the face of her employee's aggressive hospitality. When she caught Cassian's eyes, her own narrowed at him, promising a fight from her at least.

Bodhi came back with two paper cups of hot black coffee, a couple of packets of cream and sugar, and some slices of bread on a plate, with a blob of butter next to it. "Today's special! Cinnamon raisin, Jyn's original recipe. Very popular. Always a best-seller."

Cassian sipped the coffee to be polite - oh, god, it was even really good coffee - and reached into his attache case to pull out a manila folder. Time to take back control of this encounter.  "As I was saying, I represent Mrs. Palpatine in the matter of her fraud case against Stardust Bakery."

Jyn snorted loudly. Her arms were crossed and her chin set. She hadn't touched her coffee or the bread. "Fraud? She's calling it fraud now?"

Cassian said, "She attests that you promised, and failed to deliver, a cake for her daughter's wedding on June nineteenth of this year."

"Oh my god," Jyn muttered.

"She further attests that you took a deposit of five hundred dollars, and never refunded it despite failing to deliver the agreed-upon item."

"First off," Jyn said. "Take a look around. Go on. Have a good long look at all the shelves and displays."

"I've seen it," Cassian said.

"Do you see cakes out anywhere?"

"No." But many bakeries made cakes to order as specialty items.

"Do you see cookies? Donuts? Pastries? Sweets of any kind?"

". . . no," he was forced to admit.

"We make bread, bagels, and muffins," Jyn said. "Have done for the past eight years, ever since we opened our doors. We've never made anything but bread, bagels, and muffins."

Bodhi muttered, "We could branch out into cookies, it wouldn't be that - " but a boiling look from Jyn stopped him.

Cassian said, "Why did you take her order then?"

She made a noise somewhere between a growl and a shriek in her throat. "We didn't. We wouldn't."

"She says she ordered three layers of lemon-creme, raspberry, and chocolate ganache, frosted in her daughter's wedding colors of mint green and harvest gold."

Which sounded both nauseating and hideous to him but then, it hadn't been his cake.

Jyn huffed out a breath and started to say more, but Bodhi cut in. "Why don't I tell him what happened?"

"You're Bodhi Rook?"

"Yes."

"You're named in the suit as the employee who falsely promised her the cake."

"So you should get his side of the story." Jyn got to her feet and waved Bodhi into her place. She leaned up against the window, arms still crossed, looking like an eagle poised to tear out Cassian's liver at the slightest hint that he might bully or traumatize her employee.

Cassian took out his yellow legal pad and a pencil. "What happened?"

"She came in," Bodhi said. "About mid-June."

"June twelfth," Jyn interjected.

"Yeah. And she started firing off orders for this cake. She was texting the whole time. I kept saying we didn't do cakes but she never looked up from her phone. A lot of people think we do cakes, and we usually send them to this friend of ours, Baze? He and his husband run Guardian Farms, and he makes amazing cakes. People love them - anyway, I tried to give her his card like six or seven times, and she just kept telling me when she needed the cake and where to deliver it."

Cassian felt his stomach sink. That squared with his impression of the CEO's wife - domineering and oblivious.

"What about the deposit she accuses you of stealing?"

"Total fiction," Jyn said.

"She gave the amount of five hundred dollars."

Bodhi said, "I tried to tell her we didn't take deposits because we don't do cakes. She told me she knew the owner personally, to put it on her account, and then she just walked out the door."

"We don't have corporate or personal accounts, and I sure as hell didn't know her," Jyn added. "If you want, you can check with our accountants. They're two doors down, Skywalker and Organa. You won't see that number anywhere in our books."

Cassian noted the names. "What happened next?"

Jyn answered. "She came back a week later and screamed the house down when we didn't have her cake. Because we don't do cakes."

"I called the cops," Bodhi said.

Cassian felt his eyebrows shoot up. That was a detail that had gotten left out. "Because she was disrupting your place of business?"

"Uh, yeah, and also Jyn was getting ready to punch her."

"I didn't hear that," Cassian said. "Please don't repeat it. Ever. What happened then?"

"They didn't arrest her because she's such a prominent citizen, but they did make her leave. She came back twice herself to yell at us, and then she sent her daughter and her new son-in-law."

Those details had also been left out. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "How did they react?"

"They both understood once we explained. You're the first lawyer she's sent, through. And then there's the online stuff."

"The what?"

Jyn took a phone out of her pocket, swiped and tapped a few times, and handed it over. It was the bakery's Yelp page, with a screen-long diatribe about how unprofessional they were, how disgusting their bread was, how she'd seen cockroaches in their shop and knew somebody who'd gotten deathly ill from eating a moldy bagel.

"There's more," she said. "Yelp, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, hell, even on our business page on Google."

He stared at the rant for a moment and thought, This is who you're working for. This petty, ridiculous, vindictive person, who doesn't see anything wrong with using money and power to club the world into submission.

This is way beyond taking a job for the sake of the bills.

This is the exact opposite of everything you ever believed in or identified with.

He set the phone down in the middle of the table. "Ms. Erso, Mr. Rook, I'd like to apologize to you both for wasting your time with this nonsense."

Bodhi blinked. Jyn did too, uncrossing her arms. "Well," she said. "Apology accepted."

"I'd furthermore be pleased to offer myself as legal representation in your counter-suit against Mrs. Palpatine."

"Our what?"

He waved at the phone. "This is a clear case of harassment, and if the stories about the vermin or the bagel are untrue - "

Jyn bristled with offended pride. "Of course they're untrue. We've maintained a perfect Health Department record for the past eight years - we would never - "

"Then throw in libel," Cassian said calmly. "With the importance of social media to small business, you could be facing significant harm to your livelihood from these false stories."

Jyn shifted uneasily, her eyes flicking away.

Bodhi said, "Jyn! You said it was normal fluctuation."

"It's a dip. They happen."

"You've been getting less business already," Cassian guessed.

"It's not bad enough that I'm going to turn around and throw a stupid lawsuit back at her. I'm too busy for all that crap."

"Consider that if we threaten to bring a counter-suit, she might be persuaded to drop hers," Cassian pointed out.

That clearly hadn't occurred to Jyn. "Really?"

"It's quite common. Especially if we lean hard on this online harassment angle."

She eyed him. "Won't that be a little sticky? What with you working for her husband and everything."

"Ah," he said. "Yes. I knew I'd been forgetting something." He fished around in his pocket, pulled out his phone, and dialed. "Mr. Draven?

The voice of his boss echoed down the line. "Andor. Make it quick."

"Yes, sir. I'm at Stardust Bakery. The whole suit is completely ridiculous, sir. Mrs. Palpatine doesn't have a leg to stand on, and any reputable judge would laugh himself sick before he threw it out of court."

Draven didn't sound surprised. "She'll want to pursue it anyway."

"I'm sure she will, sir. But I don't intend to have anything to do with it."

"That's not your choice."

"Yes, it is. I quit, sir. I'm going into practice for myself. Effective immediately." He hung up and smiled beatifically at Jyn and Bodhi.

"You just quit?" Jyn said. "Right now."

"I've been sick of that job for a long time."

His phone buzzed. A text from Draven. Your personal effects will be at security by 1 pm.

As if he needed any reassurance that it had been the right choice.

Since he was no longer here in a professional capacity, he reached out and took one of the slices of cinnamon raisin bread, spreading it with a little butter, and bit in.

He almost made a very undignified noise. It was warm and rich with raisins and cinnamon, yeasty, soft. It brought back memories of his nana, giving him cinnamon raisin toast as she quizzed him in Spanish on what he'd learned in school that day, her eyes shining at what a fine, clever nieto she had.

It was a memory in a bite.

Bodhi grinned. "I know, right? I told you it was one of our bestsellers!"

Jyn tried and failed to stop herself from looking pleased.

He swallowed and almost whimpered as it hit his hollow stomach. "Thank you both for giving me the kick in the ass necessary to go into practice for myself."

"Well, you're welcome, I guess," Jyn said. "But how am I going to find you now?" She wiggled his card at him. A grin kept tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I'm guessing you can't go back to this fancy midtown office."

"I'll give you my phone number," he said. "And let you know when I've found some office space." He took another bite and almost moaned.

His phone buzzed frantically, and he looked at it again. A text from Kay, his favorite legal secretary. A series of texts, actually, stacking on top of each other even as he swiped the screen.

I have been informed of your decision to resign

It is foolish, quixotic, and impulsive in the extreme

I calculate only a 36% chance that this ridiculous venture will survive longer than a year

I have also tendered my resignation, effective immediately

With a truly excellent legal secretary such as myself, your chances of success rise to 54%

Let me know our new address as soon as possible

"Your boss yelling at you?" Jyn asked.

"No," he said. "Actually. Uh. They're from a - a friend." He looked up, feeling dazed. "I seem to have an employee now.”

"You know," Bodhi said. "This is a two-story building. There's some office space right upstairs. Big enough for two."

"Really," Cassian said, turning the idea over. A reasonable distance from his apartment, the smell of warm bread filtering up through the vents -

The fascinating downstairs neighbor, with her beautiful, snapping eyes..

He cleared his throat. "Well. Who can I contact about viewing it?"

"That'd be me," Jyn said. "Actually. I own the building. You want to see it right now?"

"I'd love to," Cassian said, taking another bite of bread.

Still amazing.

FINIS

And the original story: https://notalwaysright.com/the-cake-is-a-lie-part-3-2/75543/

[inthesummerswelter]

recipe for disaster: chapter sixteen

There's a ringing sound just as she shoves the package into the beaten leather backpack, bending one of the corners.

"Hi, Niall, I'm on my way," Penn practically yells into the speaker of her mobile, hands fumbling with the device as she tries to pull on her boots and jacket at the same time. "So sorry I'm late!"

"S'no worry, I'm not there yet m'self." His voice crackles back, rising and falling as his footsteps jostle along with the uneven pavement. "You said a place called Lord's? Wanna make sure 'm on the right street."

She nods quickly and reaches for her keys on the hook by the door before realizing that he can't see her. "Yeah. Yes. Uh, go ahead and pick a table when you get there, and if Michael tries to tell you to order or get out, tell him you're waiting on me."

"M'kay, Penn. I'll see you then."

Hanging up, Penn shoves her mobile in the breast pocket of her thrifted denim shirt - she has to keep pushing up already-rolled sleeves so they don't cover her wrists as she clomps down the stairs to street level - and walks faster down the sidewalk, trying not to trip over the feet of passers-by.

It's not until she turns the corner and sees the antique sign swinging in the light breeze that she registers exactly how much the world has embraced the spring season. The florists and their stands have started to fill with blooms, pails and pots and papers filled with baby blues, blush pinks, delicate shades of yellow, and frothy sprigs of pale cream. Birdsong drifts through the air from all sides of the tree-shaded avenue, calling down onto the heads of fathers and mothers corralling children in the nearby park. Penn spares a second to glance around, slows her steps to examine the lily-of-the-valley bouquets, and catches a glimpse of her new watch.

Shit. Even later than she had originally thought.

Quickening her stride, she bursts in the door and looks around until she sees the top of a bleached-blonde head at one of the smaller tables by the side window. There's a counter with stools along the large pane of glass displaying the shop name in bold scarlet and goldenrod lettering, which Penn had figured he would choose, but he's in a booth instead. Matching the lightness of the counter, the tabletop is made of a pale wood, polished with a high varnish to ward off stains from spilled coffees and teas. There's one window, squarish and up high, that lets in the early afternoon sun to illuminate the interior of the bakery.

Niall looks up at her from where he’s tapping out a rhythm against the empty top of the table. “Good thing you made it. I swear the bloke asked me three times if I was gettin’ anything - told me I better scram if I wasn't - before I told him I was waiting for you.”

Leaning over to set her bag down, Penn brushes down the front of her shirt to flatten out any wrinkles. “Yeah, he’ll do that. Can I get you anything? My treat, for asking you here and for being late.”

“Sure,” he says, turning to look at the menu and the glass case at the counter. “Cup of tea, whatever’s fine but breakfast if they have it, and one of those scones. Those orange-something ones looked really good earlier.”

Michael’s at the counter, as always, and is in the process of wiping off glasses and mugs before he puts them away on their proper shelves.

“Usual?” he asks coolly, running a hand through his hair, now a dark brown shade that really suits his colouring.

“Please. And, a cup of breakfast tea and one of those orange scones.”

She points at the case, gesturing to the rack with the scones resting in neat rows on the parchment paper.

After he hands her the order and she pays, he looks at her, frowning.

“Chrissakes, I hope you know what you’re doing, Penn.”

Suddenly, she feels about five centimeters tall and scuffs her foot along the floorboards as she collects the cups and the plate with the scone and her muffin before mumbling back, “I’m trying, okay?”

Head down, Penn briskly walks the five steps back to the table, cheeks heating up with shame and frustration.

“Are you okay?” Niall asks gently, as he accepts his cup. “Do I need to go over there and talk to him? And I don’t have to talk with words.”

She laughs at that, at the idea of Niall taking on the significantly taller Michael in the front of the neighborhood bakery.

“I’m fine, I’m okay. He didn’t say anything cruel. Nothing that I didn’t already know.”

Humming thoughtfully, Niall leans back in his chair. “Alright. I’ll buy that. So, what’s up? Why’d you want to get together today?”

“To talk. About a few things. But namely about these.”

Digging in her bag, Penn doesn’t have to search for long, for her hand comes into contact with the thick manila envelope, heavily dressed with postage stamps.

He rocks forward to examine the package, taking in the DO NOT BEND stamped in bright red across the front, nearly obstructing the address, clearly written to Penn in dark, thick black lines.

“Uruguay?” He raises his eyebrows.

She stabs her finger in the corner where the return address is written. “Zayn. He travels. Open it, please.”

He complies, bending back the tabs on the back until he can open the envelope. A cascade of colors tumble out onto their table, nearly missing piling onto his scone. A note settles on the top of the bunch, reading this is how you know.

Photos.

Dozens and dozens of Polaroids, taken from his visit oh-so-many weeks ago. Some are of the city, taking snapshots solely comprised of shoots of grass sprouting through the cracks in the pavement.

Others are of the flat, of the view from the terrace, of the fishbowl-effect that occurs when the sky is dark but the lights in the kitchen are on.

And, there are pictures of the dogs: Clove as he lounges on his mat, tongue lolling out, one that’s a blur of brown and white that simply has to be Cardy in motion.

There’s photos of Zayn and Penn, a few of their faces from Zayn’s arms-length and a few of them mucking about in the greenhouse, ease painted across their faces. Ease with life, ease with one another. It's easy for her to be comfortable with him.

But the majority of them feature her and Ashton.

Him making funny faces in the mirror as she brushes her teeth and tries not to choke on the toothpaste from laughter.

Her pointing at a line in his textbook as she leans over his shoulder, faces so close they nearly brush.

Him smearing dirt across her face, giggling at her expression as she chucks a carrot at him in the greenhouse.

Her laughing at him, with him in the kitchen as he tries to operate the blender with limited success.

Him leaning in a doorway, smile on his face as he watches her rush around, gathering ingredients in her arms for a thrown-together dinner before he leaves for his evening seminar.

Her stirring her tea with a flush in her cheeks, glancing over at him playing with the dogs on the floor behind the coffee table, rain dripping against the large windows of the flat.

Them together, curled on the sofa as they watch the latest episode of that sitcom everyone loves, him bracketing her with an arm around her shoulders and her head nestled against the soft jumper covering his chest.

Them together, washing the breakfast dishes, his head cocked down towards her with a half-grin on his face as she tries to brush off the soap bubbles from the tip of her nose.

Them together, waiting for Zayn at the airport, him with head tucked into her shoulder now, one large hand splayed across her waist. Her with an arm resting against his own, clutching the fabric of his jacket in one small fist.

 Niall shuffles through them, one by one and faster and faster until an awestruck grin plasters itself across his face.

"I don't know what he means by this is how you know. How do I know? These don't make any sense!"

"You mean, you really don't know?"

She resists the urge to slap her forehead. "Obviously not. Otherwise, I wouldn't be asking you for help."

"Penn, this is something else." He clears his throat and looks up at her with sober eyes, not a trace of humor in them. "This is -"

And, her mobile rings, cutting him off.

Penn looks at the screen and curses.

It's Louis and he'll nag at her through voicemail if she doesn't pick up, so she sets him on the table and puts him on speaker, praying that nothing too offensive comes out of his mouth in this oh-so-public setting.

"Penn!" Predictably, Louis immediately dives into conversation as soon as she picks up the call. "You wanna do something fun tonight, love? Harry's just told me about this new club a few days ago that I'm dying to try out. You in? Niall can come too, I know he's with you, listening in."

Penn looks across the table to the boy in question, who simply shrugs and takes a sip of his tea, content to let her make her own decisions for herself. To be honest, she wishes she had as much faith in herself as he seems to have.

"Lou -"

"Wait, before you say anything, hear me out." Penn pauses, readjusting the mobile by the salt and pepper shakers as she waits for him to continue. "I know we've had some bad experiences with Harry's recommendations in the past, but he promises me this time that it's definitely not a gay bar. And Liam's vouched for it and everything so it's bound to be a good time! We can take your mind off things and cut loose. Have fun."

"Louis," she begins again, painfully aware of how Niall studiously stares over her left shoulder, how the sounds of Michael bustling behind the counter have ground to a halt, how Louis waits on the other end of the line for her answer.

It's never going to be easy, is it?

"I don't think I want to go out tonight. Not really feeling up to it. Sorry, I'm really sorry."

There's a pause. "Oh. Okay. That's fine, Penn. I can just take Niall with me, and we can go again some other time."

She slumps back into her chair, relief melting her bones. "Yeah, that sounds great. I'll talk to you later."

"Wait. Penn, we're friends, okay? I know we haven't had the smoothest of relationships, but I do care about, you, and if there's anything you need, I'm here for you. And call me Lou already." There's a rare seriousness in his tone, which both startles and touches her.

"Thanks, Lou. I really appreciate it, and same to you. Thank you. Goodbye."

"Bye."

The noise of the bakery resumes, and Niall focuses on her again, leaning forward on the table and bracing his weight on his elbows.

"So, what are you going to do today then? You got th' day off, and tomorrow, too. What do you need if not th' distraction of getting trashed and clubbing with Louis and yours truly?"

She gives him a pointed look before responding.

"I think...I think I need some place quiet today. Some place where I can think and not be interrupted by...other things." The words settle strangely on her tongue, twisting on itself in an effort to coax out the words she really means.

But Niall knows that other things mean memories and reminders and distractions.

Thumbing the corner of her napkin, he suddenly tears it off and asks for a pen. "Here. 'S nice for just wandering, thinking about nothing and everything, y'know. Go there this afternoon and just think everything over. What we talked about and what we didn't."

Penn examines his scrawl, a cluster of cramped numbers and letters, discerning an address in Trafalgar Square.

"The National Gallery. Entry's free and all. I like to go there sometimes and just walk." He looks bashful, and, not for the first time this afternoon, Penn is struck by how little she knows about the boy sitting in front of her fiddling with the worn band of his wristwatch.

Reaching forward, she taps twice on the table before stating wryly, "I've been a shit mate to you, Ni. What's been going on with you lately?"

He laughs, so loud and strong that it fills up the bakery with the sound, before launching into all the things she's missed as she listens with a half-smile on her face.

They chat about his life until the sun turns shades of late afternoon amber, and he sees her off on the edge of the square, gallery looming across the way.

   The first space she walks into is too tumultuous to help her think, filled with rushing seascapes with crashing waves, stormy skies, vessels on the brink of capsizing with all hands lost.

So Penn moves on, following the fold-out map thoughtfully provided at the door until she's not very sure where she is anymore.

And, as she gets lost in the maze of galleries with their high, vaulted ceilings and rich wooden floors all curled up inside the rectangular building - one of those puzzle-places where the inside is ridiculously bigger than the outside lets on - she walks into the middle of an art class.

Well, not really the middle, but more of the outskirts.

She's seconds away from tripping into somebody's easel when there's a tug on the sleeve by her elbow by an altogether different somebody.

"Whoa there. Best try and watch where you're headed."

"And if I don't know where I'm headed?" Penn asks as she looks down into the eyes of a seated girl staring impishly back up at her.

"You'll find it faster with open eyes," she replies confidently, shifting around on her stool.

They're in one of the more romantic Impressionist galleries, one of the larger ones with skylights piercing the ceiling and causing distinct beams of pure white to filter down into the space. Long benches line the center, with thoroughfares on either side. The painting class takes over a corner, a handful of students trying their hand at the softness of a Renoir.

"There's more of us scattered around," the girl says, gesturing with her paintbrush. "All of the eras have a few. The real crazies are in Cubism right now. I would recommend trying your luck with the Picassos there in about an hour or so. We're almost done for today."

"Done doing what?" Penn queries, tilting her head as she takes in what this girl has produced so far. In turn, the girl quirks the side of her mouth up in a charming, lopsided grin that reminds her of Ashton, mischief and all.

"Well, we're supposed to choose a major period in the history of art and imitate it. But I thought, hey, why imitate when you can innovate?"

Gesturing to her piece, Penn can see what she means.

"And, hell, maybe it's not so much innovation as reinterpretation, but the spirit is still there." The girl's voice floats in her right ear as Penn takes in the bunches of delicately wrought poppies, blooming in vibrant shades of scarlet and vermilion and crimson, heaped over the gaping crevices and cracks and chambers of the ox's skull.

"You put the flowers on the dead things and wait for them to not be dead anymore. And they aren't, and you know why? Because everything is connected. We're all part living and all part dying and we'll go on living even after we die. Everyone just tends to forget that bit about death, y'know. That it is cyclical and all that."

Nobody speaks for minutes afterward, the hum of the gallery lessening while Penn slips away under the shade of a lawn chair for a few moments.

"I'm Katherine by the way, Katherine Huxley" she says, quietly, tentatively. "But, please, call me Kit. Please."

Kit seems to suit this girl more than Katherine ever could, three sharp letters matching the streaks of oil paints that dash along her fingers as she sticks out a hand genially.

"Penn," she replies, clasping the proffered wrist. "Penelope Bunting, but Penn for short."

"Ah," Kit says with a grin, "yours is definitely worse than mine."

   Penn has to stifle a laugh later when she does venture into Cubism. Instead of the crazies, as Kit so eloquently put it, she finds Luke, long limbs spreading a tape measure and examining the dimensions of different sections of color. Vaguely, she wonders if Luke's part of the same art class as Kit, before dismissing the notion entirely. The boy sitting in front of her wouldn't subject himself to something as out of his comfort zone as an art class.

"What are you up to, Luke?" she asks, peering over his shoulder. There's a pile of lined paper spread out in his lap, covered with neat numbers in military-straight lines of equations and formulas.

He looks up, startled, and a peculiar expression settles across his face before he explains.

"For extra credit, for my professor. We're to look at how math influences either art or music. And the museum's closer, so, here I am. Calculating angles of the polygonal shapes. Trying to figure out which degree range is more pleasing to the eye than others."

"Maybe try Modernism," she jokes halfheartedly. "Lots of squares to look at there."

"You mean rectangles," he corrects absentmindedly. "More rectangles than squares then."

Cue an awkward pause.

Penn can feel the tension rise even before she brings herself to ask her next question.

"Um...h-how's Ash?"

He looks up at her coolly, pencil stopped in mid-calculation. She can see where the graphite hasn't yet looped around to finish the curve of the eight.

"He's fine," Luke replies, glancing back down at his sheet of equations. "Y'know, throwing himself into coursework, prepping for his finals, drafting research papers, taking care of your dogs, generally stressing out. Worrying himself sick. So, really, he's fine."

Penn recoils away from the hidden venom in Luke's tone. "Oh. Um. Are you going to tell him you saw me today?"

She doesn't know why she asks.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. She neglects to point out that he's just dusted his hair with turquoise flakes from the drying paint on his fingers. He refrains from commenting on how wrecked she looks, still working her way through cycles of exhaustion.

"And watch him struggle against grilling me with questions for the rest of the night? No, thanks."

Penn feels herself draw back, then hears the click of her boot heel as it makes the pivoting turn to leave almost unconsciously. She doesn't make it any further, though.

"Wait." He snags her wrist, then wrenches his hand away as if burned, looking down at the floor. "Are you going to be around tomorrow?"

Nodding, she replies, "I think so. Why?"

"There's things to talk about. People who think they have things to say."

"Oh, okay." She nods again, turns to leave again.

"Penn." His voice alone pins her feet to the floor this time. "Have you tried to talk to him yet?"

The unspoken answer rings in the air between them even after she marches her way out of the gallery, out of the museum.

No.

  (When she gets back, Penn's filled with too much nervous energy to fall asleep. So she cooks. And, as she pulls out ingredients in her rush of adrenaline, they coalesce into the makings of her gran's patented garlic bread recipe.

His favorite.

She stays up all night finishing the dish, creeping over after the garlic bread has cooled enough, and lets herself into his flat with the spare key hanging by her terrace door.

A note taped to the top - torn off the edge of a week-old newspaper and scribbled on by the blunted end of a stubby pencil - simply says I'm sorry.)