Chapter Text
Sylvia grit her teeth at the sun streaming in through her window. Mornings were not her forte.
“Goooood morning !” The door to her bedroom banged open, and the loud strumming of a banjo announced Wander’s arrival. “Are you ready for the day?”
Sylvia groaned and shoved her face into her pillow. “Five more minutes!”
“Sylvia!” Wander put his hands on his hips and shook his head, ginger hair swaying with the motion. “You promised! I need your help to plan Barry’s birthday party this afternoon, so you can’t take the lunch shift! Sylvia !” He pouted.
“Ugh.” Sylvia rolled over, bright red mohawk spilling onto the bed. “I’m only doing this because I love you, buddy.” She opened her brown eyes a crack, and was startled to find Wander’s green ones right in front of her.
“I know!” He flashed a toothy grin and pulled her out of bed. At a tiny five foot three, Wander didn’t even reach Sylvia’s shoulder, but the floppy, green hat he always wore made them about even. “C’mon, grumpy butt!” With a tug, Sylvia followed her roommate out of the bedroom, and blearily allowed herself to be led to the bathroom. It took much poking, prodding, and motivational banjo music, but Wander finally got Sylvia to be presentable and ready for work.
“This is why I take the lunch shift,” Sylvia grumbled as Wander handed her a pancake he had made.
“Sylvia, we work the same shift.”
“Yeah, but you also take the morning shift.”
Wander shrugged. Sylvia scarfed down her breakfast, and they went to the elevator. Sylvia and Wander lived on the 22nd floor of a rickety apartment building, and its elevator shuddered and screeched the whole way down, but it was better than taking the stairs, which Sylvia swore changed daily and were out to get her.
“Are you going to that rally today?” Sylvia asked. Wander headed a Green, anti-animal testing group of people that lead peaceful protests against companies that tested on animals, were linked with bee death, or polluted the atmosphere. Sylvia helped too, mostly with email-writing and being the muscle when need be. One eventful rally a few weeks prior she had punched a policeman in the face when he had called Wander a tranny, but that usually didn’t happen.
“Yup!” The elevator came to a jarring halt, and he skipped out, green dress billowing behind him. “I hate how they’re called rallies! It sounds so aggressive! I just want to talk to the heads of these companies, and politely ask them to stop. I’m not trying to force them to change, ya know?”
“I know kiddo.” Sylvia patted the top of Wander’s hat comfortingly.
“Oh, and today, I have a couple of Lush people coming in to help, and I think I can get a meeting with Lord Dominator, the elusive head of that (pardon my language) absolutely rotten corporation, RoboCorp. I mean, can you believe that they’ve started dumping their chemical runoff into Chesapeake Bay? He won’t even release his real name or what he looks like! We gotta go by a nickname. It’s a great nickname, but-” Sylvia yawned, and let Wander talk all the way to the metro, and even through the whole ride.
“Alright buddy, we’re here.” Sylvia rubbed her eyes and held the door open for Wander. “The Coffee Nomad. Best damn place for coffee in the city.” The store was decorated with bright, white christmas lights year-round, and the floor was black with white speckles, reminiscent of the endless expanse of space. The tables littering the floor was a bright red, matching Sylvia’s mohawk, and a set of long couches lined the wall, each a viridescent green, and the walls were covered in posters promoting different bands and Wednesday night Slam Poetry. Sylvia and Wander went about setting up for the day, when the bell above the door chimed.
“Welcome to the Coffee Nomad, how can I- Oh, fuckin’ hell. Peepers Watchdog. What do you want now?” A man stood in the doorway, so short that Sylvia was having a difficult time seeing him over the counter. He had cropped black hair and an eyepatch slung over his left eye, one that Sylvia suspected was fake and only for aesthetic.
“Hello, Mr. Peepers!” Wander waved excitedly. “You look tall today! Did you get the red platform shoes I sent you?” Wander pulled himself up on the counter to check. “You did ! Do they fit? Are they comfortable?” Sylvia lifted him up and put him behind the counter again.
“You did what?” She hissed.
“I sent Peepers some shoes! He hates being so short, ya know,” He whispered confidentially.
“I know he hates being short! I was the person who started the rumor that he wears stilts behind the counter!”
“That was you ?” Peepers shouted.
Sylvia waved him off. “You can’t just… Get gifts for our rivals!”
“Pshh. They’re not our rivals. Remember how we needed a bag of coffee beans last week? They totally helped us out.”
“First off, they run The Harbeanger. It’s a coffee shop that they set up literally across the street from us. Even though we’re way better-” Sylvia shot a look at Peepers “Like, so much better, they steal customers from us every day.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t be friendly! I’m sure Peeps was here to wish us a good morning, like a friendly neighbor would.”
“Actually,” Peepers reached into the inner pocket of his black jacket, “I’m here to inform you that the Harbingers of Doom will be playing tonight, and you should expect it to be loud, obnoxious, and you will be losing the night crowd.” He grinned, and placed a poster on the counter. “Also, it’s 5:45, so I believe you are open. I’d like one black coffee, please.” Sylvia, grumbling, made him his coffee, slid it to him, grabbed his outstretched money. Peepers turned around and poured out the coffee into the trash can. “See ya later.”
“Have a nice day!” Wander waved
“What was even the point of that?” Sylvia shouted after the short man. “I know it was symbolic or whatever, but you still paid us! You gave us money! What the fuck, man?” Sylvia hit the counter. “That guy! He doesn’t even take any of the credit! People still think Hater runs the shop. What does that guy even do other than try and fail to lift weights?” Sylvia put her forehead on the counter. “I hate mornings!”
Wander patted his friend’s back. “Peepers shouldn’t get to you! We do just fine even with the lost customers!” The door jingled. “See- oh. Hey, Starbella!”
The barista nodded and muttered some excuse as to why she was late, even though Sylvia was too tired to care. “Okay. I’m here, I’ll go through the day, I’ll set up for that party, and then I’ll just relax at the rally.” Sylvia sighed, and put on her apron. It was easier said than done; after what felt like an hour, Sylvia checked the clock and it was barely past 6. There had already been a crowd of customers, most from the business district a block away. Sylvia had sent Wander outside to attract customers with some jingles on his banjo (partially because he kept talking with customers and holding up the line), and she wasn’t sure if it was working or if it was just this hellishly full in the mornings.
“Comin’ through. Okay, mister, get off my skirt. I’ll fuckin sue you, ‘mkay?” A tall, beautiful, young woman pushed her way through the line and to the counter. Her hair was dyed white and brushed over to one side, and she was pale, almost green, as if she hadn’t slept in weeks. The bloodshot eyes, rimmed with winged eyeliner, added to her sleepless look. “The usual,” she waved her hand at Sylvia and didn’t look up from her phone.
“M’am, I’m going to have to ask you to go to the back of the line,” Sylvia growled.
The woman blinked slowly at her phone. “I said, the usual.”
Sylvia pinched her brow. “M’am, please go to the back of the line.”
She finally looked up. “You’re not Trudy.”
“I switched shifts with Trudy. I’m Sylvia Zbornak, and I own this establishment. Go to the back of the line.”
She snorted, and leaned across the counter, dangerously close to Sylvia. “Look here, Zbornak, I don’t care if you’re the freakin’ janitor , I want the usual.”
“M’am.” Sylvia pushed her back fully behind the counter. “First off, I don’t know what ‘the usual’ is, and, second off, you’re going to go to the back of the line.”
“I could sue you for this! I’m ordering a drink, and you’re denying me service!”
“You’re holding up the line. Next please!” Sylvia waved the next person forward, and gently shoved her out of the way. The woman narrowed her eyes and left. At least, Sylvia thought she left. In actuality, she went to the back of the line and waited her turn.
“The usual is a large mocha with five extra shots of espresso. You know, I’ve been coming in here every morning, and no one’s stood up to me like that.”
“I’ll need a name for the order?” Sylvia ignored her.
“Dominique. Can I expect to see you tomorrow morning?”
“That’ll be four dollars.” As Dominique handed her the money, their hands brushed together, and Sylvia felt her stomach flip. “Yeah, Trudy and I had to permanently switch shifts.”
“Well, then. I guess you can call me Dom.” The woman gave a predatory smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“Yeah. Don’t try cutting your way in line.”
“I won’t.” Dom took her coffee and waved without looking back.
Sylvia knew that something had started, and without knowing why, she would call Trudy the second she had a break.