Work Text:
Here are some things you need to know:
Most everyone agrees that it’s Grian’s fault.
Grian blames the heat, and Impulse blames idle hands, but everyone else agrees that Grian started it. Most things usually began that way.
Another thing you should know: it was hot. Swelteringly hot. The earth had already begun gently steaming by the time the sun rose, and by the time the stores downtown began to open their doors the thermometers were steadily crawling their way past thirty-two degrees celsius. It wasn’t even July yet, but already the heat was seeping into the cracks of the long rectangular building that held, back to back, Magic Mountain Chocolates and Impulse’s Coffee + crepes. The air conditioner was not particularly good, which was bad news for the chocolate, and worse news for six wilting employees.
The only people who were really content were the patrons of Ren-Diggity-Dog’s Coffee (not its real name: that had been forgotten long ago. But the regulars had started calling it that, and the name had stuck). Across the street, they had a clear view of the Dessert Building (as it was known), and working air conditioning. And, as you will see, that week they had excellent entertainment.
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Grian disagrees with everyone about how it began too. Grian says it started like this:
“Mumbo,” Grian says. “I’m bored.”
It’s hot. The ice cream, in six flavors, is melting a little. The chocolate is having trouble setting. Scar dips another apple into his bowl of caramel and lays it gently down. “Come help me with the apples,” he says.
“You’re almost done already.” Grian drapes himself over the register imploringly. “Nobody is coming in. I’m bored.”
“It certainly is quiet,” Mumbo admits. He’s wearing his favorite apron, the one that says world’s richest man on it with little cartoon diamonds in blue glitter. “It’s the heat. Nobody wants to go outside. And I bet Impulse and his crepes are taking all our business.”
“I don’t want to be here.” Grian pokes despairingly at the empty chip jar. Scar studiously dips another apple into the caramel and coats it with chopped nuts. It drips, too hot for the caramel to settle. “I need to do something. Give me a dare, Mumbo Jumbo. Dare me to jump off the roof. Do it.”
“Oh heck yeah,” Scar begins, as Mumbo frantically tries to shush him. Grian and Scar both lack basic self preservation.
“No,” he says firmly. “Absolutely not. No one is jumping off the roof. Nope. Besides, we don't even have a ladder. Thank goodness.”
“That’s what parkour is for.” Grian says, like it’s obvious. “Ok, well if you’re going to be boring about it. Give me a dare Mumbo.”
Mumbo sighs, unties his apron and then ties it again. “Fine. Here’s a dare. I dare you to take out the trash. You didn’t do it last night.”
“Mumbo!”
Scar laughs. “That’s what you get, man.”
“Scar! You too? I’m hurt. That’s not a good dare, Mumbo.”
“Well then, as your employer I order you to take out the trash.”
Grian rolls his eyes and drags himself upwards like he’s been glued over the counter with taffy. “You’re not the boss of me.”
“I literally give you your paycheck. Shoo.”
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On the other side of the wall, at Impulse’s Coffee + crepes, a very similar conversation is happening.
“Impulse,” Pearl says, looking forlornly out the window and wilting. “I’m so bored.”
Impulse stares into the middle distance and pours another cup of coffee into his mug. It’s his third cup today, and the store has been open less than an hour. It’s that kind of day.
“Pearl,” Gem calls from the back, where she’s cutting the tops off strawberries and depositing them in an oversized white bucket. “You could come help me crack the eggs.”
“Or you could make another pot of coffee,” Impulse suggests, doing his best to look innocent, like he hasn’t single-handedly drained the pot.
Pearl sighs and pulls out a coffee filter and pours the ground coffee into it. “Why is it so dead?”
“It’s the heat,” Gem says. “It’s too hot to do literally anything now. And I bet anyone who wants something sweet is going for ice cream at the Magic Mountain.”
“It’s not that hot.”
“Pearl, aren’t you from, like, the hottest place in the world? I feel like your data is skewed.” Impulse says. “Anyway, if you’re really that bored, you can take the trash out for me. Our bin is getting full, and it’s honestly kind of starting to smell.”
“Sorry,” Gem apologizes, “I forgot last night.”
“If you forgot, can’t you do it Gem?” Pearl asks, letting a bit of make-believe whine slip into her voice, wanding into the back and inspecting the overflowing blue bin.
Gem’s voice is teasing. “I thought you were bored.”
“You’re all terrible. Just the worst. Poor me. Poor little old me. This is basically a crime.” She pulls the back door open and the tiniest snatch of cool floats into the tile room, and pulls out the bin returning a few minutes later, and returns the empty garbage bin to its place beside the door, leaving it propped open as usual.
And that’s how it looks a few moments later, when Grian turns the corner carrying two overflowing black trashbags, and whistling under his breath.
Here’s one final thing you should know: Grian is always ready for mischief.
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“Pearl,” Impulse says. “I thought I asked you to take out the trash. It’s not a big deal if you forgot, but--”
“What?” Pearl says. She’s on crepe duty, standing over the circular electric griddle, filling a crepe with strawberries and nutella. “I took the trash out. Impulse, are you messing with me?”
Impulse shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. The trash is full.”
“I thought I remembered you taking it out,” Gem says. “But Impulse is right, it’s all still here.”
“No way.” Pearl folds her crepe into a neat triangle and slides it into a to-go box, before stepping into the back to stare.
The trash is full. Heaping. Smelly.
Pearl stares.
Outside the door, back pressed to the wall, Grian giggles to himself.
Unfortunately for him, but perhaps fortunately for the story, Grian is not a quiet giggler.
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“Hey my dude,” Ren says, as the little bell above the coffee shop door tinkles. “What’s up man? What can I get for ya?”
Ren’s coffee shop smells like old grounds and sweeteners. The carpet is faded and the paint is peeling around the corners. One of the walls is painted with chalkboard paint, and contains not only the menu but whatever writing and art the patrons decide to bestow on it, making it a dusty hodgepodge. Light streams through the windows illuminating the knots in dark wood and the swirling patterns of cream in the customers’ coffee.
Stress takes a deep breath, and then another, and savors the air conditioning. “I’m alright,” she says, “it’s so hot out, though.”
“It is, it is. Iced coffee then? You look like you want one iced.”
“That sounds lovely.” Stress gives a nod to the other patrons, all, like her, regulars. Doc at his normal window table, his papers and laptop scattered about him, Iskall at the other window with a book, Joe and Cleo leaning over the counter, deep in conversation, and Zedaph bent over a book, mumbling to himself. “By the way, I saw something strange on the way in.”
“Strange? What kind of strange?” Ren pours out the cold brew and adds a dash of cream, sliding the drink across the counter.
“You know that guy from Mumbo’s chocolate shop across the street? The one who always has that red sweater?”
“Oh, that’s Grian,” Ren says. Ren knows everyone in the same way most people recognize streets in their hometown; his brain is a map of people and how they are all connected up. “That will be four dollars and twenty five cents, by the way.”
Stress fishes about her purse for change. She likes exact change. “Well, he was carrying out a few trash bags, right? But instead of going to the dumpster, he opened the door to the crepe place, and dumped his bags in there. And then, one of the employees from the crepe shop came out and she chased him all the way up the street, yelling.”
“Sounds like a fun morning.”
“It was rather entertaining.” Stress admits, handing over a crumpled pile of bills and change.
Ren nods, and rings her out. “Well, if I know Grian,” he says, “things are going to remain entertaining for some time.”
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“I can’t believe he would do that!”
It’s the afternoon now, languid summer shadows inching their way across the floor of Impulse’s Coffee + crepes, stretching out the shapes of the aluminum chairs. Somehow, impossibly, it is hotter. According to Gem’s weather app (she’s the only one in the building who seems to get decent cell service) the heatwave still has days to go. And still, there are pitifully few signs of customers, beyond a couple of teenagers sitting at the window, who ordered milkshakes and banana-nutella crepes. Impulse has relented and made milkshakes for everyone, and now they all lean over the long stainless steel backroom table, milkshakes in hand, panting for a breeze.
“It’s ok, Pearl, it’s ok,” Gem says. “He said it was just a prank.”
“Just a prank?” Pearl shakes her head, disgusted. “I thought I was crazy. Crazy! He was gaslighting me. Psychological manipulation. That’s a war crime, that is.”
Impulse wrinkles his nose laughing. “I really don’t think-- anyway Pearl, we’re not at war. So war crimes don’t really-- oh no, you’ve had an idea.”
Pearl is standing up straight looking for all the world like a cat who has just received an electric shock. “We’re not at war,” she repeats. “But we could be!”
“Oh no. Oh, Pearl no.”
“Oh Pearl, yes.”
Gem grins, swirling her strawberry milkshake in circles with a brilliant red straw. “That actually sounds like fun. Impulse. Impulse. Let us start a war, Impulse. I’ll work the weekend. I’ll take extra shifts.”
“Glory, Impulse,” Pearl wraps an arm around his shoulders, an arm outstretched for the metaphorical stars. Unfortunately it only draws attention to how dirty the kitchen ceiling is. “It’s about honor. Vengeance. We are foot soldiers in a far greater army of pranksters--”
“Ok,” Impulse says, “ok, alright. You’ve won me over. But no property damage, you hear me? And once the heat stops and customers return, it’s over. Deal?”
Pearl shakes his hand. “You won’t regret this, Sir Impulse. Now, I need to borrow your car, right now. I have supplies to get.”
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“Mumbo,” Grian says. “Mumbo K. Jumbo. Mumbo.”
Mr. Mumbo K. Jumbo in question is kneeling on the tiled floor, his head instead a cupboard, trying to sort boxes of napkins and silverware. They don’t particularly need sorting, but it’s a quiet day, and if he doesn’t do something he’s going to go insane. His voice comes out muffled by the cupboard. “What is it Grian?”
“What does the K in your name stand for?”
“Killer,” Mumbo says, without missing a beat. He stands up, dusting off his hands on his apron. Grian is sitting on the counter across from him, idly swinging his feet. Scar is leaning on the countertop next to him. He appears to be facetiming his cat. If Mumbo didn’t like them so well he would have probably fired them both. Last year. But unfortunately for him and his business they are all best friends now, and according to the Rules of Friendship™ you can’t fire your best friends even if they are lazier than a bed of slugs. And anyway, they do good work in a pinch, and they make him laugh, and you can’t really ask for more than that in this economy.
“Mumbo,” Grian says, swinging his legs more violently still, so his heels bang against the wooden cupboard door, making Mumbo wince. “Why are all the drinks ranch dressing now?”
“What?” Mumbo blinks, once, twice. “Could you say that again, please?”
“All the drinks. In the minifridge. By the door. They’re all ranch dressing.”
Mumbo turns and stares. Sure enough, there’s the coca-cola themed mini fridge. And inside, where once stood bottles of water and soda is an endless parade of square, heavy-duty ranch dressing bottles. He scoots closer. There’s an envelope in bright red on top that definitely wasn’t there before the last time Mumbo looked. Wordlessly he hands it over to Grian, who opens it up.
The card has a ballerina on it and the words HAPPY 2ND BIRTHDAY in bright pink block letters. But those have been crossed out with a black sharpie and edited to DECLARATION OF WAR.
Scar looks up from his phone. “A declaration of war? Oh man, guys. Grian what did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything!” Grian protests. He flips open the card.
DEAR GRAIN it says. THANKS FOR THE TRASH. PREPARE FOR BATTLE.
“Grian,” Mumbo says slowly. “When you took out the trash--”
Grian has the grace to look sheepish, even though they all know it’s entirely an act. “I might have dumped it in the trash can of the crepe place.”
“And the declaration of war--”
“I’m presuming, it’s ah,” Grian coughs. “A prank war.”
“Grian.”
“Mumbo K. Jumbo.”
“We cannot sell ranch dressing. We are a chocolate store.”
Grian shrugs, but his eyes are sparkling. “Maybe it’s time to expand. Find some new vision. By the way, what does the K actually stand for?”
“Catastrophe,” Mumbo says, and buries his head in his hands.
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“Good morning Impulse!”
Impulse’s Coffee + crepes smells like its namesake coffee this morning, and bacon. Impulse is baking pans of it in the back, thick with grease, to be crumbled up for savory crepe toppings. It is the second day of the heatwave, and somehow hotter still. The entire earth seems to be still, hours slowly creeping away like molasses. Pearl, used to hot weather, feels like she’s drowning in it. The air conditioner is still barely function, and the open back door seems to let in an equal amount of breeze and a baking hot blast of air. She hangs her bag on the hook in the back and brushes off her uniform in the mirror. Gem’s bag isn’t here yet, but she’ll arrive any minute, to help prepare toppings and wash dishes, while Pearl makes the crepes. In the meantime, there’s prep Pearl can still do, filling the friges in the front with drinks and---
She opens the refrigerator and does a double take, effectively cutting off her train of thought completely.
“Impulse?”
“Yes?”
“Is it Easter?”
Impulse signs into his coffee. “It’s the middle of July.”
“Then why,” Pearl says, “are all the eggs easter eggs?”
Impulse pokes his head through the door and stares over Pearl’s shoulder. Sure enough the open-faced cartons of eggs, normally a nice, bland shade of eggshell white are a rainbow of colors. Some even have fun patterns on them. Reds, greens, purples. Yellows and pinks. They make an absurd sight.
“No way.” he says, “Pearl, I think your declaration of war was accepted.”
“No way,” Pearl echos.
The front door jingles. “Guys?” Gem’s voice drifts into the back, “Where--”
“Gem!” Pearl turns to meet her, purple egg in hand. “Look!” she passes over the egg, and lets Gem stare. “They’re all like that. You know what that means, right?”
Gem grins. “We have to one-up them?”
“Absolutely.”
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The thing about coffee shops is that they open far earlier than either one of the stores in the dessert building. So Iskall and Stress, enjoying a morning cup of coffee and catch-up together see Grian and Scar carrying approximately eight dozen colorful eggs into Impulse’s Coffee + crepes through the back door, and then returning to Magic Mountain chocolates, high fiving and punching the air like high-school basketball players scoring three-pointers.
“What are they doing?” Iskall says.
“Mischief.” Stress says, but she’s grinning.
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“How,” Pearl says, “do you win battles?”
She and Gem are mixing up crepe and waffle batter in the back, cracking colorful eggs and rather sadly discarding the shells.
“Hmm,” Gem appears to consider for a moment. “You need a secret upper hand.”
“Spies.”
“Accomplices.”
“An inside man.”
Gem laughs and pours milk and water into her waffle mix, whisking it until a froth rises to the top. “Are you suggesting what I think you are?
“Treachery.” Pearl says.
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Scar rides his bike to work, and locks it at the bike rack a block away from Magic Mountain Chocolates. He keeps trying to convince Mumbo to install one out front, but apparently it will ‘ruin the aesthetic.’
The downside is that he is open to ambush on the block-long walk. Not that ambush is usually a concern on his mind, but today, apparently, he should have been worried. Because the two employees from the crepe place have just snagged him, dragged him into Ren’s coffee shop, sat him down at a table, and are staring at him with unnerving intensity.
“Well,” he says, trying to break the tension. “Hello there.”
“Hi,” says the one on the right. She’s got long brown hair and her hoodie pulled over her head, and a wide-eyed stare that reminds Scar of someone who has been possessed by a demon or maybe a serial killer. It’s like someone found Grian on a caffeine-high and gave him steroids. That kind of intense.
The one on the left grins. “Hi!” she says. She’s got her red hair in a braid over her shoulder and a sunflower pin on her shirt. She at least looks friendly. “Do you want coffee?”
“I uh,” Scar says. “Sure! Why not? But I do have to warn you, I am about to be late for work, and my boss will notice if you kill me and leave my body in the dumpster or something.”
“Gosh, you’re morbid,” scary-lady says. “I’m Pearl by the way. This is Gem! We’d like to negotiate.”
“Negotiate?”
“We’re at war,” Pearl says, with utter certainty. “And we’d like to come to an…agreement. Gem, can you grab some coffees for the negotiation?”
“Absolutely!” Gem bounces up and goes off to purchase coffees. As his eyes follow her, Scar can’t help but notice the odd looks the entire coffee shop is giving their table.
Scar leans forward, and laces together his fingers, trying his hardest to match Pearl’s energy and hoping he succeeds. “I feel like you’re trying to imply that my loyalty can be bought,” he says. “I mean, it absolutely can. But this had better be good.”
“Oh absolutely,” Gem returns with one of those cardboard coffee carriers with three cups of coffee and a small mountain of sugar packets. Scar snags one appreciatively. He’s not usually much of a coffee drinker, but this seems like the kind of day where it will be required. He can already tell. “Gem,” Pearl says, “Show Scar what we’ve got.”
Gem sits down, and proceeds to pour about fourteen packets of splenda into her coffee cup, stacking the little yellow slips of paper. “Ok,” she says. “You have a cat, right?”
“How did you know?”
Pearl reaches across the table and plucks a piece of white cat hair off his black uniform shirt. Gem points at his Jellie themed phone case. “I bet you love your cat, Scar.”
“Oh, yes, more than anything in the world,” Scar says brightly. “And if you’re threatening her--”
“No, no,” Pearl interjects.
Gem holds out her phone. On the screen is a picture of a cat tree, and not just any either: a multilevel spiraling tower with a dozen hidey-holes and scratching posts and--
“It could be yours,” Pearl says, “for the low, low price of your assistance on the battlefield.”
He doesn’t even know if he could fit it in his apartment. But he is certain he’s never needed anything more in his life.
“Okay,” he says, “what do you want me to do?”
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“Scar?” Mumbo says. “You’re here pretty early, man.”
Scar is here early, but he’s got the key to the shop, and technically he isn’t breaking any rules. “I wanted to get a head start on prep today!” he says. “I’m hoping I can go home early, if we’re quiet today. It’s still too hot, man.”
“I know, it’s awful. Why do you want to go home early anyway?”
“Oh! I got a new cat tree for Jellie, and I need to set it up! It was a gift from some friends.” Scar claps his hands together. “Anyway, I’m almost done with the pretzels, and I’ve already finished the caramel apples. Anything else?”
“Wow,” Mumbo says, and he sounds incredibly impressed. Scar does his best to suppress a giggle. “That’s amazing. I-- I’m chuffed to bits, Scar. That’s awesome. Uh, if you’re really looking for something to do, you could help me unpack the strawberry order.”
“I’d be happy to,” Scar says serenely. “Let me get the caramel apples all set up first.”
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See, Grian and Scar have been friends for a long time. And Grian, despite his penchant for chaos, is a creature of habit. And Mumbo K. Jumbo is a generous man.
All this to say: every morning, Grian enters Magic Mountain Chocolates, and gets his second-breakfast, pre-work snack. Which is, every morning, a caramel apple. Mumbo says it will kill him eventually, with all the sugar and so on.
And today, still a burning hot day in the middle of the city, Grian walks into work. One of the customers at Ren’s coffee shop waves at him, and he wonders what that’s all about, but he’s already running late for work, so he sprints past without finding out.
Inside, Scar is already there, handing cartons of strawberries to Mumbo, who is packing them all in the fridge in neat rows. “Hi guys!” he blinks. “You’re here early, Scar.”
“I’m getting off early today, so I came in to help out,” Scar explains. “The apples should be finished cooling, by the way, Grian, if you want one.”
If Grian was thinking more clearly, or paying more attention, he would have noticed the twinkle in Scar’s eye. But there’s a long day ahead, and he’s distracted, and he simply doesn’t see. Just fetches an apple from the fridge and takes a big, big bite.
And chews.
And chokes.
“What the heck?” he splutters, chunks of caramel spraying and.. “Oh my god, is that onion? What?” Realization dawns. “Scar!”
Scar is already running.
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Mumbo K. Jumbo would have liked to say that from that point on, things deescalate, the weather cools, customers return, and his employees go back to doing their jobs and not making everyone’s life harder.
Unfortunately, Grian ropes him into it, and well, Grian can be a hard man to say no to. Next thing he knows he’s hiding a Bluetooth speaker in Impulse’s crepes + Coffee connected to the store computer playing “ten hours of silence with random vine boom.” And then the next morning, when he comes to unlock Magic Mountain Chocolate, the entire front of the store is filled with multicolored party balloons that take far too long to clear out. And then---
Things cannot keep going on this way, and he knows it.
He takes Impulse out for coffee.
“Look,” he says, over his vanilla iced latte with chocolate drizzle, “this needs to end. We need a conclusion.”
“Like a finale,” Impulse says. “But, like, preferably without additional cleaning for any parties. Or broken limbs. I’m pretty sure Gem and Pearl are spray painting something on your roof as we speak, by the way.”
“We’re never getting the lease next year,” Mumbo says and Impulse shakes his head.
Mumbo leans back into his seat and slurps his latte. “So we need a nondestructive, fun, fitting finale-- ooh alliteration, I like that-- for this whole war before it ends in an even more disastrous fiasco. Something good to do on a hot day…” his voice trails off, as he stares at Impulse, wide-eyed, a grin spreading out beneath his mustache. “I’ve got it.”
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Grian, Scar, Pearl, and Gem all arrive to work at 9 AM, on the dot.
It is so hot it feels like a wildfire. The concrete burns with it, even though the sun has only been up a few hours. But there is the faintest stir of wind, and above the group dark clouds gather, making it feel like twilight instead of morning.
Impulse and Mumbo gather their wayward, sweating employees on the stretch of concrete in front of Impulse’s crepes + Coffee. From Ren’s coffee shop, various regulars and employees peer curiously out the window as both managers produce coolers and bins filled to the brim with water and the bobbing shapes of several dozen brightly colored water balloons.
“Ok, so,” Mumbo says, “Impulse and I have been talking--”
“Talking?” Grian interrupts, “Now you’re colluding with the enemy too? Am I totally betrayed? First Scar and now--”
Mumbo ignores him completely “AND, we’ve decided it’s time to settle this once and for all. The good old fashioned way. Showdown. crepes versus chocolate. Winner takes all.” He picks up a water balloon and surveys his audience.
Grian is grinning like a shark. He swears Pearl's eyes are glowing red. Scar is rubbing his hands together, chuckling beneath his breath. Gem is giggling.
Impulse reaches for a balloon of his own.
“On three,” Mumbo says, “One…two...three!”
And the skies open.
With a crash of thunder, rain begins, not in hesitant droplets but in a true, total, torrential downpour, complete and soaking. Rain pounds against their scalps, soaks through their clothes, comes pouring into outstretched hands. For a moment, they all stand, six of them, staring as the rain hits them, the sound of it like horse hooves on the street.
And then Grian starts to laugh. Gem is giggling and Scar is almost doubled over, and Mumbo and Impulse choke for breath, and then Pearl joins in, scooping up a bright pink water balloon, smashes it over Grian’s already-drenched head, and runs.
From the dry comfort of Ren’s Coffee shop, Stress and Impulse sip their drinks, and watch the chaos unfold from their window seat, Ren leaning across the counter, peering out. They watch as the two stores in the Desert building have a water-balloon, rainy day showdown that would put a waterpark to shame, as the worst heat of the summer finally, finally, breaks.