burn down my throat like a building: b-side

[ceu]

Originally I had not written burn down my throat like a building to be a drabble collection thing, but as it turns out I knew what direction it was headed in when written that way, so alas.

Anyway, I did start it in a more typical prose manner. Since necessarian and I have been doing our prompt battles over at twodongs, I'd originally written a part of this for our "past tense" prompt, not our drabble prompt. So this is what had come of it. It was also supposed to be a coffeeshop meetugly, but, well.

(It's pretty obvious that I recycled themes from this and reused them in the final product.)

(This was also originally written in the first person before I'd given up on that, hah.)

*

There was a man with one eyebrow behind the barista counter.

It was a terribly busy day. Customers were milling in and out, and Lemony was sitting at a table four rows and one column over from the entrance. He was unfortunate enough to be facing the barista counter, and therefore the man with one eyebrow, who was currently making a mocha frappuccino for the current customer, a man in a bowler hat and a tweed suit. Admittedly the bowler hat (and tweed suit) were much more of an eyesore than the man and his one eyebrow.

Lemony was sipping his hot chocolate when Beatrice slid into the chair across from him.

"Any good?" she asked. It was their first time trying one of the campus coffee shops. The man with one eyebrow, whom Lemony was sure might be in his Ethics & Civil Rights class, had made his hot chocolate.

He shrugged, placing his mug down. "Adequate. Would you like to get something?"

"Hm." Beatrice scanned the chalkboard that had all the drinks written in a scrawly, yet sort of charming handwriting. "A mocha perhaps," she said, standing up. "I'll be back."

Lemony watched as she went over to the cash register, manned by another man who for some reason was in a sailor cap and declaring very loudly everything he said. The man with the eyebrow at the sailor's general existence, and Lemony could not help but be inclined to agree, even though the man with the eyebrow did not look terribly intelligent. Lemony largely did not approve of that.

Beatrice came back as the man with the eyebrow began to make her drink. Lemony tore his eyes away and back to her as she sat back down.

"So," Beatrice said. "I've been assigned to Esme in Finance & Economics."

Lemony raised an eyebrow. "Squalor, Esme?" he asked, for clarification. "Sure you can ask the professor - "

"No, I won't," said Beatrice. "Even if I can. It would be stooping to her level."

"That would only be true if she would do so too."

Beatrice kicked Lemony under the table. "I'm not going to throw a fit because I've been assigned to Esme Squalor for a Finance & Economics project," she said, and then sighed. "Even if she refuses to read anything assigned for the class, and boasts about not even looking over the SparkNotes for Anna Karenina - "

Lemony shuddered. "The thought - "

"Are there book snobs in the shop?" said a sleazy voice suddenly. "Sorry nerds, I thought this was a coffee shop, not a bookshop."

Both Lemony and Beatrice looked up; the man with the one eyebrow who really could not be any older than either of them had walked over to clean a table that had just been vacated. Lemony had pretended not to watch from the corner of his eye as eyebrow man had made his way over halfway through their conversation.

"They can be both, you know," Beatrice pointed out.

Eyebrow man snorted. "How? One's a book shop, one's a coffee shop. There's no such thing as a coffeebookshop or a bookcoffeeshop."

"There are bookshops with coffee shops in them," said Lemony.

"Then that's a coffee shop inside a book shop. The Anna Karenina isn't worth reading, anyway," Eyebrow Man said.

Beatrice huffed like she was personally affronted. She was; Lemony knew that it was one of her favorite books. "Excuse me," Beatrice said. "But Anna Karenina is one of my favorite books."

"That makes sense," Eyebrow Man said.

The nametag on his shirt said Olaf. Fitting. "Who are you to pass judgment on us anyway?" Lemony said. "You should be doing your minimum wage retail job - "

"I am," Olaf said, smirking. He finished wiping down the table - which he had done pretty thoroughly, surprisingly - and straightened up. "At least one of us is getting paid for this conversation," he said, before stalking off.

Lemony watched him go. Beatrice rolled her eyes and said, "Another idiot. I should introduce him to Esme."

"They'd make a monster together," Lemony said immediately. "Don't come to me for help if you do."

Beatrice chuckled. "Good point," she said, and Lemony tried not to feel too much pride in warding her off from the idea.

*