Mac the Wizard goes for coffee.
(its for practice)
Mac woke up groggy. His head was swimming from the previous night; a hangover loomed over the forecast of the coming day off. Mac rubbed his face with a sigh and pulled himself from his bed. It would be slow going today, a day of smoking his pipe and concocting a potion that would ease his nausea and his headache. He would listen to records and eat all the greasy food. By evening he would be human again and probably head to the bar for some hair of the dog. (Which was a literal beverage at the bar) Though before any of that, Coffee was the first step in Mac’s hangover remedy kit. And for that, Mac would have to venture into the loudness and brightness of Acre city. Thinking about the three block gauntlet to the coffee shop made Macs stomach lurch.
He took his time putting sweatpants on, grey and stained and ancient. Still wearing his last nightshirt, Mac snagged his red jacket and stepped into his flip-flops, he called his hat with magic, perched it on his head and left the comfort of his apartment and descended the stairwell that would lead Mac to Acre City.
It was bright, and cold, and annoying. Mac held a tight Grimace as he walked towards RISE AND GRIND COFFEE CO. A wind whipped through the city and sliced at Macs face. It wouldn’t be a long walk, but it also certainly wouldn’t be an enjoyable one. Mac needed more layers. Hung over, but not so much that He couldn’t weave a spell. Mac spoke in the ancient language and compelled the magical ether in the air and suddenly he was in a tight cocoon of warmth. Magic wrapped around him and the outside weather was eased. Mac felt like shit, but warm shit so things were looking up, until they weren’t.
Mac rounded a corner and lost his footing on some some unusually uneven concrete in the sidewalk. Before he could think to react his face met the ground, intimately. His shoes flew from his feet as he crashed. He laid there splayed for a moment, dizzied and irritated, before slowly crawling to his hands and feet. He took stock of his body to see if he was injured, the result was mostly his pride, as he looked up to see a group of school imps laughing maniacally. Mac dusted himself off, collected his shoes and soldiered on. He’d only one block to go.
Mac arrived at the coffee shop and the line was insane, because of course it would be. Macs head throbbed, his body ached, he needed a black coffee so hard and he was so close. He did his best to put himself into a meditative state as he queued and inched toward the counter and relief. Luckily the person in front of him only had to order 12 extra Venti specialty coffees with extreme demands, No dragon milk, extra pixie sugar, sea salt from the forbidden sea on the side. Mac fumed and glared with hazardous intent at the back of their head. (I think developing the person ordering this could be a great elaboration for this story)
His time came and Mac felt like heaven had opened to him. He ordered simply, “I just need the largest black coffee that you can legally sell me.” He didn’t say it in jest.
“Ultra Venti Black Coffee, that’ll be 12:66 sweetie. Can I get a name for the order? The bubbly nature of this attendant made Mac uncomfortable.
“Its Mac” He paid and stepped to the side to wait. His head pounded and he was sweating from every pour that belonged to him.
The new age music was barely audible over all the meetings and social media posting but Mac enjoyed the tune and felt that the energy of the day might be shifting. Coffee was coming and so too was clarity and then Mac could make beeline home and properly Vedge out.
It took fourteen minutes, but for Mac it was hours, The guy who’d been in front had insisted on double checking all the coffees and sending half back for being cold. Mac nearly turned him into a ferret. But finally a heavily pierced Orcish barista shouted out. “Order For Marc!”
Mac hesitated, and then claimed the coffee from the Orc, it was nearly a Gallon and piping hot. Mac salivated and clasped at the coffee. He shuffled from the coffee shop with a renewed energy, brushing shoulders with nearly everyone as he exited into the street.
He spoke another warming spell and took off toward his home with an impressive gait, He made it back to his house in ten minutes, he climbed the stairs two at a time and threw himself into his apartment, the coffee had cooled from a molten state to the small window consumption Mac. Mac plopped onto his couch and raised the cup to his lips and slurped the nectar. He spilled a large portion onto his shirt as he drank staining his well-worn shirt. He drew a large knock of it. When he came up for air. His face once again wore a massive grimace. He smacked his lips in disbelief shaking his head. All that time, all that effort, all that patience.
Those bastard baristas added sugar and milk. Mac shook his head; the beautiful sanctity of his dark black roast had been sullied by sugar and dairy. “God damn that’s fucking delicious.” Mac drained the coffee as he questioned the fabric of his reality.