Written thanks to the wonderful prompt by @tesalicious2 : 'The Caf machine is sacred, and the commanders get first pick of the day'
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The caf machine gurgled. Hacking up grounds and its plastic vibrating slightly as water was pushed through its filter. The brown sludge, diluted and gritty with grounds too fine to be caught by the flimsy filter, no matter how often it was changed, dripped down into the caf pot. It was already half full and only slowly filling with the weak stream of caf from its spout.
Spittle had been eyeing it for the past 15 minutes, having been the one to start this pot. his shift was nearing closer and closer yet, his mug remained far too clean and empty.
See, as a lieutenant, Spittle knew the rules. He was the first one in their recreational-slash-break room, and so, he was obligated to start the first pot of caf. He was also privileged to the second cup of caf today. The first, no matter how much he itched to grab the pot and finally stave off some of this exhaustion, was reserved for whichever commander managed to force their way to the caf machine first.
It hadn’t been such a big deal for the first year of the guard, but a few too many caf induced burns by exhausted troopers prompted a rule from Commander Fox. He had said that they, the commanders, could at least be trusted to be punctual and calm over the beverage.
Spittle’s eye twitched as the clock above the door ticked on. 16 minutes had passed. He knew damn well both Commander Stone’s and Commander Fox’s shifts started at the same time as him.
The metal door finally slid open. Eyes flicking down from the clock and Spittle was privileged to the sight of Commander Stone elbowing Commander Fox right in the cheek.
He let out a surprised laugh as Stone forced his way in front of Fox with the action, thundering steps carrying him to the caf pot. It let out one last shutter, the sludge coming to a stop as Stone grabbed for the pot, attention pulled away from it as he opened the cabinet above the pot, pulling a white mug off of the middle shelf.
Commander Fox leaned up against the counter, foot tapping against the ground, arms crossed against his chest, and glaring daggers into Stone’s back.
“Gonna survive, C’mander?”
Both Fox and Stone swung their heads to look at Spittle as he spoke. Fox had tensed, letting out a sigh a moment later. Stone just smirked and finished pouring his caf, lingering in front of the machine as he blew across the steaming liquid before taking a sip. They all learned to choke it down, no matter how hot, at some point.
“Probably. Hurry up trooper.” Fox waved to the machine as Stone stepped away, slouching into himself as he did so.
Nearly leaping out of his seat, mug in hand, he stepped over to Stone. Finally handed the pot, barely holding his mug over the counter, he filled it up. Slotting the pot back into its place on the machine, he held his mug with two hands, taking the time to inhale the sweet, sweet scent of liquid energy. About damn time.
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