Coffeology
The first time Kurapika saw the man, he appeared reasonably sane.
Hair carefully combed and dressed in a neat tux, Kurapika thought he could be some kind of musician. He waved his arms in front of himself in a manner that resembled that of a conductor and hummed a tune under his breath. Perhaps he was here for a shot of caffeine before a concert; there was a music hall a few blocks away, after all.
The man opened his mouth and all such assumptions vanished.
"I'll take a venti water with no ice, a shot of blueberry syrup, and whipped cream on top."
Kurapika was not hard of hearing, but he needed to hear those words from that serious, somber-looking mouth again.
"Could you repeat that?" he said, fixing the man with an incredulous stare. If this was a joke, it was not funny. Who was he to waste a barista's time and hold up the line?
"Venti water, no ice, shot of blueberry syrup, whipped cream on top," the man repeated in a dead serious tone of voice. He looked Kurapika straight in the eyes and said his name.
"For Chrollo Lucifer."
Kurapika arched an eyebrow and wrote down the man's order.
"Alright," he said dubiously. "Your blueberry water with whipped cream will be ready shortly…that'll be $3.99."
The man handed over a thick, metal plated credit card and Kurapika took note of the spelling on the card. Chrollo Lucifer. Half-convinced that the man was on crack or drunk out of his mind with a good poker face, Kurapika misspelled his name on purpose.
Kuroro Lucilfer, read the name on the cup, and Kurapika handed the blasphemous drink over, observing the man's reaction. Either the man didn't notice or didn't care, for he downed the (venti) cup of blueberry water with whipped cream in about five seconds, threw the empty cup into the waste bin, and left in a whirlwind of black and white.
Kurapika blinked.
The city was home to the strangest people.
Scratch that.
The city was home to some straight-up sociopaths, because the man reappeared a week later in bizarre apparel with an even more bizarre order.
"Can you get me a cup of water with two blueberry scones blended in, a shot of blueberry syrup, and a crushed cake pop sprinkled on top?"
Kurapika blinked.
"That will cost extra."
"Of course." The man handed over his card. "For Chrollo Lucifer."
Last time the man had worn a tux, combed his hair neatly, and muttered under his breath but otherwise appeared put-together. This time, he wore a strange gothic ensemble with a fur-lined black coat and…a massive metallic cross on his forehead (hadn't he worn a bandage over it last time?), and hair gelled back in a way that emphasized said cross on the forehead and for the life of him, Kurapika could not guess what this man did for a living.
Punk rock, maybe? Visual kei? Emo boy band?
It could be any of those and more.
"That'll be $9.83," Kurapika said dryly.
This time, he wrote Quwrof Wrlccywrlfh and quietly set the drink on the counter, calling out "blueberry drink" at a moderate volume.
The man ambled to the counter, glanced at the name on the drink, and downed it with a smile on his face.
"Thank you!" he said as he tossed the emptied cup of sacrilege into the waste bin. "Not many people make that drink the way I like it!"
Kurapika's nostrils flared.
"You're welcome," he said icily.
Washing a myriad of crumbs, sugar, and syrup off his hands and apron, he prayed that he never saw the man again.
The sociopath was back and this time he had clearly lost what remaining marbles he had.
"Sir," Kurapika said dryly. "There is a dress code here. Out of consideration for other customers, we do not serve people who are shirtless."
The man looked at him in surprise, then down at himself. He was in the same gothic ensemble as before, only this time his coat was open to display his bare chest to the entire world. Customers were looking at him in apprehension, for that deathly pale skin implied he might be in poor health or on a special kind of crack which drained the blood right out of his veins.
Chrollo buttoned up his coat and looked at Kurapika with a smile.
"There. I am now properly dressed. Can you take my order, Mr. Kurta?"
Kurapika's eye twitched. Damn name tags…
He did not want to hear his name on the lips of this sociopath. Next time, he'll ask the manager for a spare that said "barista one" or something.
"Of course," Kurapika said flatly. "What would you like?"
"Can you blend a slice of cheesecake in hot water?"
Kurapika did a doubletake.
"A…A slice of cheesecake in water?" He echoed. He knew the man was a nutcase but what on earth…
"Venti! For Chrollo…you can spell my name however you want. I kinda like the spelling from last time. Oh, and extra whipped cream on top, with a crushed cake pop sprinkled on the cream."
"Yes…sir," Kurapika grimaced.
By the time he finished the order, his hands were sticky from the cheesecake, he had struggled to balance whipped cream on freaking water, and the crumbs from the cake pop riddled his hands, apron, and work station.
"Cheesecake for Satan!" Kurapika announced irately. He placed the drink on the counter with a little more force than necessary. Chrollo strolled over and looked at the name on the cup. In bold capital letters, it was addressed to SATAN.
He grinned.
"That's a new one. I like it. You don't come across many people called 'Satan' nowadays, so I feel quite unique. I can't wait to see what you come up with next week!"
The man downed the drink instantaneously, as he had a habit of doing, chunks of half-blended cheesecake and all.
Kurapika screamed silently.
He had reached his wit's end.
Kurapika had intended to quit his part-time job at the end of summer anyway, but after finishing Satan's latest order, he decided it was time to hightail it out of here for the sake of his sanity.
"Mr. Kurta," Satan sighed as he ambled through the doors yet again. He had ditched the gothic ensemble, returning to formal attire, but was covered in what looked like mud and blood, as though he were recently involved in a fistfight of some sort. "I would like to place my order…quickly, please, I require sustenance…"
Kurapika was tempted to slow down his movements to a snail's pace, but that would also prolong the time he had to spend in the other man's presence, so he refrained from doing so and manned the cash register promptly.
"Your order?" Kurapika inquired.
"A chocolate chip cookie, a brownie, three blueberry scones, and a cheesecake blended into hot water, with four shots of blueberry syrup, two shots of raspberry syrup, topped with whipped cream, then topped with a crushed cake pop—no, two crushed cake pops—and a sprinkling of chocolate and powdered sugar."
Kurapika almost snapped his pen in half.
He breathed deeply as he entered the man's order into the cash register.
"Your…cookie brownie scone mixture with…four shots of blueberry, two shots of raspberry…and two crushed cake pops, topped with chocolate and powdered sugar…comes to a total of $55.59, sir."
By the end of the order, Kurapika's customer service voice had definitely tapered off into a snarl.
The audacity of this bastard…the most sacrilegious order on the face of the earth…ostentatious sociopath with all his screws loose…
Kurapika tossed the cookie, brownie, and scones into the blender and turned on the loudest, highest setting. Chrollo was the only customer, so he didn't really give a shit. He aggressively pounded the syrup dispenser to crank out four shots of blueberry, two shots of raspberry, and viciously crumbled two cake pops, imagining he was crushing a certain someone's head.
By the time Kurapika sprinkled the final layer of chocolate and powdered sugar, he wore an expression that came nowhere close to a smile.
"Your order. Sir." Kurapika said through gritted teeth.
"Thank you," Chrollo said zealously. "Oh, yes, sustenance…I require it dearly…"
He chugged the drink at lightning speed and Kurapika watched him incredulously as he washed his hands in the sink.
ABSOLUTE. SOCIOPATH. Kurapika thought to himself furiously.
If he had to take one more order from this man, he was going to flip his shit and throw a punch, probably getting arrested and spoiling his lack of a criminal record, much to the horror of his academic advisors who fawned over his 4.0 GPA and extensive list of extracurriculars and teacher's recommendations.
This was it.
This was the end.
He was over, he was done, he was never barista-ing again.
When classes began and he felt tempted to bemoan the tediousness of studying, he'll look back at this experience and remind himself that he'll either bend over backwards to maintain that 4.0, or end up back here, making cookie-brownie-scone-double-cake-pop drinks for sociopaths who talked like aliens and that was not a fucking option.
The summer of Kurapika's senior year of high school came to an end, and after leaving the coffeehouse, he never came across the bizarre man again.
Until one day, four years later when he had graduated college, he chanced upon a coffeeshop on his way to his new job.
He took a good look at the barista and his eyes widened.
Then, his lips curled into a huge smirk.
"I'll take a venti, half-whole milk, one quarter 1%, one quarter non-fat, extra hot, split quad shots—one and a half shots decaf, two and a half shots regular—no foam latte, with whip, topped with one packet of Splenda, one packet of sugar in the raw, half a pump of vanilla syrup, and three sprinkles of cinnamon."
Chrollo screamed silently.
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