ScatheAriiasqDrayceon
Just cause I read worse don't mean it ain't cursed
~Four weeks ago~
It was a sunny, bright day when the part-time Starbucks Barista met the strange man. He was wearing dark blue hospital scrubs, and seemed to mind himself while waiting, not really making any fuss and even allowing an older lady in front of him. Being honest, he looked dead on his feet, though, considering the scrubs, and the fact that he was in a coffee shop, that wasn't unusual. Though, his height was a little odd. Either everyone in the shop at the moment was short, or he was ta—
The odd man's turn came up and he stepped forward, casting the barista completely into shadow. Stark blue eyes that speared right through his soul all-but pinned him to the ground as they shifted to look down at him, the head attached cocking to the side as he put on one of the fakest "customer service" smiles he'd ever donned. The man was tall definitely tall. As in "giant among men" tall. He may have been short, but now, he felt like an ant. "Can I take your order?" he all-but squeaked, wanting nothing more than to curl into himself. Just under the man's eyes, there was almost identical smudges of purple-black, the—what he could only assume to be concealer—wearing away at the edges and speckling the splotches with what almost appeared to be stars.
Those eyebags looked like one-way portals to the void.
"Yes, I was wondering..." If the barista was a little spooked before, he was downright terrified, now. The man's voice rolled like distant thunder and had the same effect good bass did, the vibration crawling up his bones and chattering his teeth against each other. "Do you serve biohazard coffee? Death Wish or Black Insomnia would work fine, too."
Do they what, now?
"Uh... no, sir, we don't. Those aren't exactly... safe for the general populous... so no."
A rumbling hum followed, and he tilted his head to the side. "Shame. Wat's your strongest brew?"
"An... Iced Expresso Roast Clover, sir..." If the Barista could back up, he would, but his feet stayed firmly planted to the slightly-offcolor tile the employees had all collectively agreed was the "talking to customers" tile... that was probably why it was offcolor, now that he thought about it.
"A venti of that works. And... How many expresso shots can you put in that?"
"Twelve..." His spine curled, dread slowly crawling up the vertebrae one by one and infecting them with its icy touch, the shiver slowly creeping out starting from his neck.
"Alright. Do you still sell 'add energy' packets?"
"Yes... but only one."
"One of those works—" The end of the words was stifled by a yawn, the man covering his mouth politely. Even so, the flash of obsidian-black fangs longer than one of the barista's fingers still caught his eye.
"Is that—is that all?"
There was a small moment of consideration before what the barista could only assume was an Ancient Eldritch God nodded, stepping off to the side to allow the people behind him to the front... if there were any, at least. It turned out, that the Eldritch being was the only customer left in the store.
"And... who should I address this to?"
"Jet or Kadoshi works fine, thank you."
The barista scribbled "Jet Kadoshi" down on the cup before passing it off, still unable to move from the offcolor tile despite the Eldritch God moving off to type on his phone in the corner.
The entire cup took a mere few minutes, but it felt like several centuries to him, who watched the newly-dubbed "Jet" type in a frozen stupor of deep fear.
"Jet Kadoshi," the woman manning the desk read off, glancing up as the Eldritch God straightened to come back over.
"Thank you. Keep the change," He passed the woman a pair of bills, paused to read the side of the plastic cup, then shrugged, and—right before their eyes—chugged the entire drink. All twenty ounces gone in less than a minute.
And then he was out the door.
The barista's coworker turned to him, passing him the two bills. "Who was that guy?"
"No bloody clue," he replied, glancing down. "But whoever he is, he's insane."
She perked a brow at him, gesturing to the cash. "Plat, anyone who pays in fifties is insane."
~To be Continued~
