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It’s muscle memory now, two heaping tea spoons of Loumidis Papagalos coffee, two teaspoons of sugar and enough water to go just over half of the briki — stir and let boil over the flamed gas stove. Victoria has done this for years — watched it for years, when she was just a not-so-little girl in the morning while watching her papou make a cup for him and herself, he’d run his thick, hairy, ringed hand down her back before giving her shoulderblades a firm pat. He’d look at her, balding and silvered yet teeth shining with gaps in his grin from old decay, giving her a twinkling wink before saying in his gruffling voice, “Éna akóma gia séna, mou Viktóriaáki.” Before adding adding another spoonful, before caving and adding an extra, extra spoonful despite only promising one more just for her twelve year old sugar-addled brain.
So many years have passed, she has no need for this, not even being able to consume it. But Victoria stirs the mixture together and lets it rest over the flame, she rests on the countertop, stuffing her pipe and matching it alight. She can hear Therese padding over, leaning over to watch the brown steep. She knows what question is about to arise, she pops the bubble before it grows any bigger.
“Old habit. I’ll brew another cup, put it in a thermos and bring it to the blood bank. I’m sure Vandal will enjoy a pick-me-up.” Smoke billows out her nostrils and her mind brings her back to the porch of the house, cigarette smoke stains her senses in some type of fire blanket suffocation as she sips her brew while the small radio plays Voskopoulos on the small table between the two of them.
Therese sneers at the name of her ghoul, though she settles as Victoria pours the steaming liquid before letting her gaze follow milk pale hands scoop coffee back into the copper pot.
“Caffeine is not needed, believe me. During visits; I can see the overflow of cheap energy drinks. Disgusting, shameful, if you don’t have the drive to get through the night, why even bother?”
“It’s nice,” Victoria bounces back, “It’s rare to get this brand of coffee in Cali, most import stores close early and some people don’t know how to properly make it.” She lets her eyes drift to the malkavian and offers her an overly toothy smile.
“Come on, love. Wouldn’t you like to try some… let’s say– exotic spiced blood? Something that’s like elder vitae with a dash of extra ‘something?’”
“No. I’ll stick to my wine glass, thank you very much.”
With a non-committal shrug, Victoria turns back to the flame, it should be getting cold outside now, not that she can feel it — but the trees are dropping leaves and acorns, by this season, she would’ve grabbed whole spices and made enough warmly spiced chai to make her work week and then some for her coworkers.
Victoria might leave Cali for a bit, visit up north-east, bring a hot thermos of coffee and a pack of cigarettes and enjoy time with her papou once more, allowing the smoke to billow around the head stone as she pours liquid energy over the grass and water what little life’s left in there.
For now, she’s on caffeine duty, making sure the putrid little blood-rat gets his fill, like he did her, an eye for an eye. After making sure that the thermos top is sealed enough, she slips it in her bag and makes it outside before hailing a cab back to Santa Monica.