Mai-Ly (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
formidable) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sunfloras2021-01-06 03:33 pm
formidable) wrote in sunfloras2021-01-06 03:33 pm
π₯ππ ππππππππ₯ ππ£πππ
 It so happens that on a dark and stormy night in a city, (somewhere, anywhere really), someone may spot a beautiful gilded wooden door nearby wherever they are. Side of a building? In an alleyway? Near a dumpster?? Usually, it appears somewhere that's out of sight and out of mind, where the majority of people can't see it. The door looks warm and inviting and it's just a secret begging to be opened up so you can find what lies within... ... It's surprisingly normal inside; a surprisingly normal cafe actually. The interior is a warm mixture of red brick walls and sleek wooden floors and tables, along with comfortable looking sofa chairs and a large couch with a coffee table to accompany it. The ceiling is decorated with colorful hanging lanterns that cast interesting shadows on the walls and floors. A large black bookshelf sits next to the counter where there are various books and novels that have an age to them from past readers and customers. Behind the counter are the usual machines, bottles of syrups, jars of coffee beans, and tea blends in decorative jars. The black chalkboards aligned on the wall are strangely empty except for the special of that day and a lavishly illustrated logo which can only be the establishment's name. There's no other way to say it. This place is cozy. There is someone behind the counter, but depending on when you come in, it's going to be a different barista who will serve you. Or you can say hi to other customers and hang out with them! The Midnight Grind is a magical cafe with a door that appears in any location, across different universes and even time periods. It is a place to relax, eat, and drink, and collect yourself before heading back to whatever business you were in the middle of. It is run and owned by a witch named Iona J. Oakes, her golem companion Oren, and their main barista, Monts. Volunteers to help out with busy shifts are welcome and will be compensated appropriately. β€ it's just a blur β’ "Why'd I Wait?". |
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[Monts decides to keep herself busy with their conversation and by preparing him that drink. Her movements are fluid and unhindered and her arm, unbroken and unblemished. There is no evidence of that night.]
I have my reasons to hide just like how you have your reasons to wear a mask.
[The whir of coffee beans being ground up fills up the silence between them before her words and hot water is added to the equation.]
You won't find this cafe on any map because this whole space just breaks the rules. If you ever want to meet the owner, she'll be willing to explain. It's more of her secret, not mine. I just work here.
[Bitter, dark, and warm; that is the scent that envelopes the counter and the bar seats. And then she takes out an orange, a peeler, and scrapes off some of the peel to rub around the rim of the espresso glass before sliding it over to him.
The smell of roasty bitterness gently infuses with the bright blossom of citrus. The barista looks at Batman expectantly. ]
As for myself specifically...
[There's her own pause and then she says:]
Congetial analgesia.
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The other customer in the room gives him a Look that says "dude, relax." Wayne Enterprises is likely funded by the pennies Bruce gets every time someone telekinetically beams that sentiment at him. ]
Congenital analgesia.
[ He parrots, to the tune of "ok, that's slightly more convincing than before." Explains Monts' cavalier attitude towards pain, at least. ]
Doesn't explain the quick recovery period. [ Sharp words, made neutral by his acknowledgment that between the two of them, he's the one standing here in a full-on bat costume. Pot, kettle, etc. ]
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[She taps at the espresso she made for him.]
Try it before it goes cold. Unless you want me to make it more ostentatious beyond orange peel oil around the rim.
[Monts avoids the remark about her recovery time for now.]
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So. He takes the espresso. He's seen her make it, so he won't worry about it being drugged, unless she's steeped the beans in arsenic or something. Which he would smell. A whole lot of thinking going behind just taking a sip of coffee. (Again: relax, Bruce.)
Mug to lips, he takes a mouthful. Tries not to look too blindsided. ]
...You really are a barista. [ No shit, Sherlock. This is Bruce-Waynese for "ok, this is very good." ]
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Please. I think I lie a normal amount, but I've been very good about telling more truths lately.
[It's followed by a small smile, pleased by his reaction.]
... I'm glad that one turned out well though. [Damn you Oren for being so tedious about peeling oranges.]
That one's on the house, by the way. It's the Grind's policy for first-timers.
[She returns to cleaning up and preparing for some new orders such as fizzy lemonades and other fruit-ades that Iona had come up with recently. A recent batch of customers from another world has taken a liking to it. But she'll talk and even return to the topic he had brought up in the first place.]
Since you're so curious about me and this whole deal, I'll be truthful about some things at my discretion.
[Of course.]
I live in Southern California with my grandparents and I attend community college. I work here at the Midnight Grind because the owner found out about my... Special features? Oddities?
[Monts pauses as she steeps some tea leaves in hot water (a mix of jasmine and rose petals). Then shrugs.]
She's helping me stay on the down-low. A girl who doesn't feel pain is one thing, but being able to recover and instantly heal from major injuries, even life-threatening ones is another.
[She scoops out some ice in a tall glass, looking away from the masked man.]
... I think that should paint a clearer picture of that night for you. Not that those guys knew anything about that. They were just being normal assholes.
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What he knows, now: this establishment doesn't exist in Gotham the way it should, and it supposedly defies simple rules of nature, as do the people working in it.
Preposterous. Call him after he runs into Clark Kent or Diana PrinceγΌ right now, all he has under his belt is a Reddit slapfight brought into the real world, and no experience with multiverse technicalities. ]
A safehouse for outcasts, then. [ Way to make it sound extremely unappealing, Bruce, thank you. ] I won't touch the rest of it.
[ Her condition is none of his business, after all. He takes another sip of his coffee, which, against all odds, warms him up. ]
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We just cater to a wider customer base than most.
["A person that paints in broad strokes," is probably one of the best ways to describe Monts. Splash enough paint and spread it around to attract attention and then redirect so that no one is obligated to look at the finer details unless they want to. She had a feeling Batman was someone who couldn't leave it well enough alone.]
I hope you realize that I gave you an invitation just as a way to say thanks right?
[Just because.]
Your choice for how you want to approach all this. If you ever want to stop by, feel free. It's clear by now that you're able to find the door on your own.
[One of the sitting customers from the back comes to the counter and she serves them their glass of iced tea.]
I guess what might be most relevant to you is that we have been getting more customers from Gotham lately. Some of them are rough around the edges, most of them are fine. We've yet to ban anyone so I'd say that's a good thing.
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Literally every other incarnation of Bruce Wayne has cultivated a better outside face, the sharp socialite who navigates Gotham's politics with pointed poise: this multiverse Bruce doesn't have those graces built in. He's awkward, lanky, and more at ease in the mask than he is out of it; he's weaponized his suit in more ways than one, and he settles into it, still refusing to sit. ]
After recent events, people might need the escapism.
[ Re: more people in Gotham showing up. Which seems. Strange? It's all bizarre, thoughγΌ he should just adjust.
He takes another mouthful of coffee, and looks Monts up and down. ]
You really just brought me into your space as a way to say thank you.
[ Dubious, but also: that's soft. He remembers reaching out to people, and having them reach backγΌ remembers how that made him feel. Gentled. Humbled. ]
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That so? Then the Grind is doing its job. They're usually confused, but they can't complain about having a free drink for the first time. Probably be a shame if they aren't able to find us again.
[It's a temporary reprieve at best, but that's what most cafes are. On her end, even she doesn't know if she'll work here for that much longer but Iona has yet to say she needs to move on. In fact, the boss seems content with how much of a fixture Monts has become for the Midnight Grind. So as the days pass, the peculiar creature that lives unwilling in human skin thinks, "I can stay here a little longer."
The cups are put into stacks.]
And you did help me you know. Don't think I'm just going to give a business card to just any masked vigilante from this point on.
[Monts wags her finger at him cheekily.]
As far as I'm concerned, only one has asked me if my arm was ok a second time just to be thorough.
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He's bad at this. In his mind's eye, Alfred is giving him an encouraging half-smile; it compels him to close his eyes and sigh. ]
People carry pain in different ways.
[ Her arm looked fine from the outside, but that doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt. ]
I just needed to be sure. [ For his own sake, for Gotham's sake, and. Well. ] ...If it hasn't kept you from your work, that's good.
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Monts puts down her hand frowning lightly at him as he sighs. The scene is quaintly odd, but perhaps it's not so weird in other universes with other Batmans. Not that Monts would know or even be aware of that. She's just focused on the here and now, and this Batman has proven to be stiff and hard to crack.
She supposes, if she were to be fair, that one would have to be a tough nut to put on a suit and fight crime at night.]
Well, you don't have to tell me twice. [Lifting up the arm that was previously broken, she gives it a few rotations.]
It's really just the pain part that I don't have or at least... [A pause. There does come a point where the most extreme makes her somewhat aware. But she came back even from that.]
Mm. I can at least tell when I can't move.
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But it's Bruce who helped her, and Bruce will have to deal with the consequences of his nice actions, which he is. Starting to adjust to. Maybe.
Which is why he actually speaks up to say: ] I wasn't talking about physical pain.
[ Because he can tell she doesn't feel that, and she's told him as much. ] You're cavalier about what you went through, but some people would've been terrified.
[ And it would be legitimate. The fear. He stares at her, and isn't skittish about it, this time. ]
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For Marianna, there are people who look and others that really look. And that's when it starts to get uncomfortable because it means they've worked past a few layers (isn't that what she wants?) and are slowly inching closer to what's beneath.]
... I think I was. Scared, I mean.
[
Snapped neck, eyes wide open, the smell, the stink, the moisture, the dryness, the dustiness, brain still functioning, alive, but not, why wouldn't it end...]I can't speak for anyone else who has the legitimate condition, but... [Though no one has ordered it, she reaches for one of the jars of mixed berries and yuzu jam and opens it effortlessly to make another drink.
It's to keep her emotions steady, her thoughts clear, her hands busy.]
When you lack a physical sense of pain it's almost like an out-of-body experience. It's happening to someone, but not to you.
[She got away with a broken arm and the fortune that he was nearby. Had it gone worse... No, it wouldn't have. The 'ifs' are useless to linger on so she won't entertain them.
A long thin spoon clinks against the tall glass, filling it with the fruit jam before the bottle of ginger ale is poured on top. The carbonated fizz bubbles and crackles pleasantly between them.]
The best I can do is just to be careful and not injure myself by accident, though at some point it was more for other people's comfort than my own. After all, if it just fixes itself soon after, why should I care?
[She mixes her ginger ale and jam drink and frowns. The mixture looks muddy and unclean instead of aesthetically pleasing. Oh well.]
I'm trying to fix that mindset though. It only got me so far until I hit a wall.
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You acknowledged them, at least.
[ After a few beats of silence, of watching her hands and her nervous energy. He never has too much to say; he doesn't know, himself, if it's a lack of empathy or if it's because he hasn't been socialized to know when to say something and where boundaries begin. He's made of them, himself: boundaries.
Another lingering second later, and the addendum. ] The walls.
[ That's a start. She acknowledged her discomfort with scraping herself thin, and is working to make herself more comfortable. That's.
Good. Progress. It makes something in Bruce ache. ]
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Yes. The walls.
[Sure, the sensation of pain is out, but her skills in picking up social cues have been honed as a result. He isn't being unkind or overtly congratulatory (imagine that), but it's a faintly positive acknowledgment. Arms crossed and head tilted at him, she can't help, but remark:]
For someone with a mean right hook and intimidation skills, you're... Oh, don't tell me. You're as awkward out of the mask as you are in it, aren't you?
[SHE SWINGS RUTHLESSLY (and playfully)]
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Which is to say: ]
You couldn't have expected someone well-adjusted to be wearing a mask.
[ Flatly, but with a slight edge of self-deprecating humor. Squint very hard for that one. He slides his empty cup to Monts, and shifts on his feet. ]
You're a good barista.
[ She's gotten him to talk this much, which is more than he ever has in, like, a literal age. ]
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Well! Thanks, I got a lot to learn, but... Thanks!
[With a chuckle, she saves her own failed drink by bending down to scoop ice from the cooler embedded behind the counter. The added ice lightens up the color and in the light, the hues become more of a soft purple rather than bruised mash.
Somewhat high on praise, she can't help, but ramble.]
I know it's a stretch annnd you're probably the type of guy to leave someone high and dry β [wow, real classy months]
β But if you ever find the entrance again and you need a pick me up after skulking about in the streets... You know. I work late.
[Hiding her smile behind the rim of her glass, she takes a sip. It's sweet. Bright. Bubbly. Not pretty, but it hits all the right notes tastewise.]
I'll make you something else.
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It seemed like such an obvious thing to say. He doesn't wonder if she doesn't hear these things often, because that's a rabbit hole, and he'll find himself thinking about these small details for far longer than is probably comfortable or necessary.
So: ] I'll keep it in mind.
[ He straightens up, and turns on his heels. ] I have a good memory.
[ Not a lie. He really does Remember Everything. ]