Chapter One
"Uh… are you really sure about this, miss?"
The world outside was still dark, and the air held a certain chill that made anyone who happened to be awake at this hour walk a little faster than would be considered normal pace. On the corner of 5th and Main stood a warm haven to those unlucky enough to have no other choice but brave the cold world outside. An old brick building with large black-framed windows, pouring out cozy yellow light and inviting pedestrians inside.
Aperture Café, a humble coffeehouse in the middle of a big city with the express purpose of bringing their customers only the biggest and best coffeehouses have to offer. Whether it is a brew the likes of which has never been tasted before, or customer service so enthralling it leaves even the most skeptical consumers coming back for more. This is where people come for their early morning wakeup calls, their lunchtime free time, their afternoon cups of tea, and their late night pick-me-ups. Be it coffee, tea, pastries, sandwiches, alcohol, a quiet place to read, or an atmosphere suited for social pleasure, Aperture Café does it best.
The woman at the counter, however, could care less about the extravagance of the Café's mission. It was a quarter till six on a Monday morning, and the only thing she had in her sights was the next cup of caffeinated fuel.
Chell held out her hand to the man behind the counter, swiping her fingers impatiently. She had numerous engagements and interviews throughout the next eight hours and she was not going to be denied the one thing that would keep her sane during this ordeal.
"Miss, you've had three cups already…" The barista was on the shorter side, with a mop of messy brown hair hastily tied back into a ponytail for convenience and cleanliness. He eyed Chell worriedly with his warm, concerned eyes that were the color of melted butterscotch.
Another mild glare, another impatient swipe with her hand.
The barista sighed, finally relenting. "You're going to die, lady."
Chell smirked. She wouldn't go down so easily.
"That will be yet another Americano, Leo," the barista, whom Chell had learned only a week ago was named Virgil, called over his shoulder to his young coworker, an excitable college age kid with short golden locks and a grin that never seemed to wane.
"Americano number four. So much caffeine. Too much caffeine. Lady is going to die," Leo muttered to himself, almost tripping over his own words in his eagerness to get them out.
"Long day ahead of you, eh?" Virgil asked, crossing his arms over the counter and slightly leaning forward. He had a strange accent that was both smooth and choppy, and if Chell had ever bothered to ask would have come to find was of Norwegian origin.
Chell nodded, sticking two fingers against the side of her temple and making a motion like she was shooting herself.
"That bad, huh?" Virgil gave her a sympathetic look. Leo came up to the counter and slid the glass over to Chell, sloshing out some of the contents on its way.
"Oi! What did I say about doing that?" Virgil snapped at the young barista, whipping the clean white rag off his shoulder and beginning to clean up the mess and dry off Chell's glass. "If you're going to show off to customers you need to be able to pull through with it."
"Yes sir, Mr. Mean Eye!" Leo said with misplaced optimism, saluting in an over-exaggerated fashion.
"Get back to your spot," Virgil ordered, waving his hand at the kid dismissively. "Sorry about that," he said to Chell, wiping up the last of the spilled drink.
Chell picked up her glass and downed the contents in one go, slamming it back down and wiping her face with her arm.
"Yep, you're going to die."
Chell got up from the counter, collected her bag and her coat, and headed over to the register to pay her dues. The man behind the register was unreasonably tall, with awkward square glasses that magnified his already large blue eyes.
"Oh, hello! Ready to pay now, yes? I believe you had four of that expresso drink, right? Quite a lot, isn't it? N-not that that's a bad thing! Not at all! I'm sure you have very good reasons for drinking so much caffeine so early in the morning. A very, very good reason. One that does not involve dying from caffeine poisoning. Which is a thing! Trust me, I read about it in an article online, says you can indeed die from drinking too much caffeine. But I'm sure you'll be fine, with your determined, uh… ness. Or at least that's how you always look, not that I would know, I don't know you at all, other than that you come in here every day and drink ungodly amounts of caffeine and never bother to even say hello…. Oh right, you're trying to pay, sorry."
Chell had been holding out her small wad of cash for several moments now, occasionally shoving it a little closer to the employee's face to try and get his attention. She had already gotten used to his ridiculous amounts of speech, and was pleasantly surprised that morning to barely hear a peep out of him during her usual half-hour stay in the Café. Of course that couldn't be expected to last and he seemed to mean to make up for his lack of interaction now when she was ready to head out the door.
The employee, whom Chell had learned was named Wheatley on the first day she stepped into this coffeehouse when he insisted on making introductions instead of quietly taking her payment, clumsily pressed buttons on the register and, after more seconds than necessary, finally got it open and retrieved Chell's correct amount of change.
"Here you go, love," he said, handing her a few dollar bills and some coins. "I suppose I'll see you later today when you come back after whatever it is you do? Unless you decide to go somewhere else today, or just go straight on home. Or just step in and step out without buying anything, Which is loitering and I'm told is illegal, but I'm sure we'll let you off the hook if you don't feel like actually getting anything. Or if you just feel like not having to bother with talking to us. Not that you ever talk with us in the first place… But! But if you do decide to say anything—oof!"
Virgil shoved an elbow into Wheatley's side, getting him to finally shut up. Chell had already started backing away to the door, but couldn't bring herself to actually turn around and walk out, completely cutting him off. She gave Virgil a small smile of thanks and a nod and was out the door.
"Do you ever know when to quit?" Virgil asked, giving Wheatley and exasperated look. "You know if you keep going on like that you're just going to scare her away, and that's bad for our business."
"I am being pleasant and sociable," Wheatley argued. "Isn't that what we're supposed to do?"
"Pleasant and sociable, not obnoxious and overbearing!" Virgil corrected. The Café was empty save for the three behind the counter, and Virgil allowed himself to sound a little harsher than he would in the presence of customers. He sighed, calming himself down a little. "Please try harder to separate your personal interests from your professional duties, okay?"
"What personal interests?" Wheatley questioned, making a point to now look anywhere but down at his superior. "I have zero personal interests here. None. Zilch. Nada. Only professional duties here. I am positively overflowing with professional duties and not at all any personal interests whatsoever."
"He's lying," Leo piped up, discretely making himself a flat white in the corner of his workspace. "He thinks she's pretty and gets all red in the face whenever she comes inside and talks more than usual, which is a lot, whenever she comes up to the register."
"I-that is not true, that is a lie!" Wheatley countered, his cheeks turning pink. "She's not even that pretty! She's boring; with boring soft brown hair that's always tied back so neatly, and cold silver eyes that sparkle even when they're glaring at me, and, you know, her smile is the worst of all! It's all red and delicate and usually sarcastic and never actually directed at me…"
"See?" Leo pointed out.
"Hey, what are you doing over there?" Virgil asked, his attention moved to where Leo was working.
"Practicing…" Leo said, his voice suddenly very small.
"Practicing what, exactly?" Virgil asked, looking over Leo's shoulder.
"Latte art," he answered quickly.
"You don't make latte art on a flat white, it's not even a latte!" Virgil snapped, snatching the drink out of Leo's hands. "How many times do I have to tell you, you don't get free drinks!"
"I was going to pay for it!" Leo whined, reaching for the cup. Virgil stepped back, countering his movements.
"Uh-huh, just like you paid for all the other ones?" Virgil said, narrowing his eyes.
"I've paid for every single drink I have ever made myself, isn't that right?" Leo asked, turning to Wheatley and giving him a pleading look.
"I'm staying out of this one," Wheatley said, raising his hands and backing away, wanting no part in Virgil's wrath.
"Steal any more drinks and I'll have to tell her about it, do you understand?" Virgil said, his voice taking on a very serious tone at the mention of their manager.
Leo shrank back, nodding his head up and down very quickly.
"Good," Virgil said, taking a large swig of the hot drink, sighing contentedly. "Hm, not bad at all."
Virgil turned his attention back to Wheatley, taking another sip of the drink. "Listen," he said, sounding very much like a grandfather about to give an unruly grandchild some well intended advice. "I understand you've got a thing for the young miss, but if you keep going at it one hundred miles per hour like that you're going to scare her away, and I don't just mean away from the Café. You've got to impress her, give her something about you to like and find endearing and want to come back. Does that make sense?"
"Not even in the slightest," Wheatley admitted, shaking his head.
Virgil sighed. "Alright, then at least start with this: talk less. Quiet ladies like that don't want to drown in never-ending monologues. Say hello, do your job, and say 'have a nice day', and let that be it."
"That sounds very unfriendly to me," Wheatley countered. "Where's the endearment in treating her like every other customer? Come in, say hello, take her money, say farewell, without even asking how her day went? That just—that just sounds rude. Unpleasant. Boring."
"It's moderate politeness and low on stress," Virgil explained. "Trust me, she'll appreciate it."
Wheatley found that hard to believe, but even he knew that arguing with Virgil usually went nowhere. Besides, the last thing he wanted to do was talk to his superior about his 'interest' in one of their regular customers. He was more than willing to let the conversation drop.
"Talk less, talk less, I can do that," he muttered to himself, fidgeting with the button of his cuff.
Virgil watched as Wheatley shuffled around anxiously, shaking his head. There was no way this could end well.