A Demystification: Eve

Day 1: First Meeting

WORD COUNT: 1540

"This is a latte, not a cappuccino! For God's sake, haven't you ever made a proper drink before?" The cup slammed so hard onto the counter that the lid and several globs of foam flew into the air, landing mostly all over the dark green of her apron. Slowly and without replying, Evelyn reached up and wiped it away, glad that it had at least managed to miss her face this time.

"I'm sorry, sir, our recipe for a cappuccino calls for some milk, not just espresso and foam. If you would like to have your drink without milk, just ask for it dry. I would be happy to remake that for you now." It hurt to smile sometimes, Lyn thought, as she somehow managed to shoehorn the corners of her lips upward into something resembling a pleasant expression. "It'll just take a minute."

The man across from her really shouldn't have been taking this so seriously. Or drinking regular coffee. He looked like the kind of person that Death kept on speed dial, checking in once in a while to make sure that none of his veins had actually managed to explode during the day. Lyn could see several of them now, throbbing away as the man's blood pressure rose a few tics over this latest disaster. The man should have been a sideshow at the circus: The Amazing Walking Heart Attack. Lyn wondered if there was betting, and which of the death gods would get this one.

She had a feeling she didn't want to know. He'd probably go some place very uncomfortable.

"You damn well better! A fucking cappuccino is made with espresso and foam." He enunciated every word, speaking to Lyn as if she were a moron. "I don't know of a single place that makes it with milk!" Anger Management Man, as Lyn had made up her mind to call him, made as if to grab his drink, so Lyn swept it off of the counter before he decided to use it as a weapon, and tossed it into the trash as she headed for the machine.

"Sir, may I ask where you get your cappuccinos that they don't come with milk, because I have never heard of a place like that?" Lyn, surprisingly, wasn't being snarky or even passive-aggressive in the manner of every annoyed employee ever. She actually wanted to know; any place like that would be great for her 'knowledge of places to get a real cup of coffee', which was (not surprisingly) the number one question she got from people. If it wasn't 'fucking Starbucks', people just assumed it was crap.

It was the wrong question to ask, apparently, because The Heart Attack Avenger's face got even more red, the vein in his neck threatening to go rogue and burst out from beneath his skin. "You know what? You've got a real attitude problem, young lady! Keep your fucking cappuccino, I'm going to Starbucks! They know how to make it right." Then, grabbing his books, he stormed out of the cafe and toward the monstrously long line up front, sans cappuccino.

"Lucky for you, Starbucks puts MILK in their cappuccinos!" Lyn called after him, keeping her voice low enough that no one could actually hear her. In this day and age, any spark of human emotion was enough to be labeled a 'bad employee' and anything less than Stepford pleasantness translated to 'bad costumer service'. She'd even seen a costumer complain once because a barista had taken the time to wash his hands before helping her. That he'd been elbow deep in dishwater a moment earlier clearly meant nothing when it came to the customer's caffeine addiction.

It was exhausting attempting to be that pleasant all the time. Not the least because Lyn was not naturally the most pleasant of individuals. 'Pleasant' had always translated, in her mind, to dull and boring, suitable for society only because one's personality was so bland that no one could find any fault with it. For herself, Lyn preferred to be quirky and unconventional, even downright weird; anything but 'pleasant', which was just plain insulting. In Lyn's opinion, it was the last resort of the otherwise wholly unremarkable individual.

Unfortunately for Lyn, being herself often translated to being the kid who always got picked last for basketball. She'd never really found it easy to be friends with people. At least modern people. She laughed at humor thousands of years old, but was always the last person in the room to get a joke. Reading Caesar's Commentaries took her to the woods of Gaul, full of men screaming, naked and painted blue, into a wall of Roman shields and red Roman cloaks. Reading books like Twilight made her want to shoot someone; though perhaps that was just because of the writing, because she certainly had no problem reading just about everything she got her hands on.

"Hey, Lyn, take a break." Her supervisor, Erik, stepped behind the counter, tying his apron behind his back as he did so. Lyn smiled, hoping that he'd noticed the way her eyeliner framed her eyes and highlighted her thick lashes. She'd put it on specifically because she was working with him that day. But he probably wouldn't notice; men usually didn't. Lyn seemed to scare them away just like she scared everyone else. Maybe it was her obsessive knowledge of mythology, or the fact that she could list every single King and Queen of England in order and backward, often doing so when she was bored. She was well on her way to memorizing the list of Russian Czars, beginning with Ivan the Great, the first to use the term for himself. The Nicholases and Alexanders were getting her mixed up, though; there was so many of them in such a short amount of time.

It certainly wasn't her looks. Lyn was what people called classically pretty. She belonged in a Rubens, curvaceous and womanly that she was, and had a face that would have driven Michelangelo to madness. But then again, her kind of beauty hadn't been en vogue in a few centuries, and men had moved on to hard-angled waifs with fake beasts and porn star lips. She had jokingly called herself "Miss Renaissance Faire" a few years running due to her 'sexy baby making hips'. So maybe it was her looks, but in conjunction with her unfortunate habit of being incredibly weird.

"Thanks, Erik. I think I might need to wash off cappuccino. We had another milk incident." Rolling her eyes, Lyn stepped out of the cafe, slipping out of her apron and taking off her hat. She walked to the bathroom and stood at one of the sinks, staring at herself in the mirror. What she saw wasn't unremarkable, but Lyn couldn't help but feel like something was missing.

It was the eyes, she thought, staring into deep pools of brown that seemed to speak of a wisdom that Lyn just didn't possess. Old eyes, people called them, for an old soul, but Lyn certainly didn't feel old. Not in the physical sense--she was only twenty-six, after all--but spiritually. It was as if there was a part of her that other people could sense, and that she could sometimes almost grasp, but when she looked for it, there was nothing there. Just a young woman living a young woman's life.

Apparently, some of the foam had landed in her hair, by now just a shiny spot with only a few flecks of white standing out against the fiery red of her hair. Sighing, Lyn washed her hands and face, using paper towels to pat clean her head. Customers always took this shit too seriously. When she finally opened her own shop (and who knew when that would be), rude people wouldn't get served, plain and simple. She was tired of washing coffee out of her hair every night, and finding mocha in places that it shouldn't have been. And she was even more tired of getting screamed at.

Turning to head out of the bathroom, Lyn had the misfortune of standing at the door just as someone was hurrying to get in. The door slammed against her forehead and, on the other side, she could hear a woman cursing. "Jesus Christ, are you alright?" Seeing that Lyn worked for the cafe, the woman's face hardened into a scowl. "Oh. You. You made me spill my coffee."

"Actually, you slammed the door into my forehead," Lyn replied, anger finally bubbling beneath her skin, mingling with the pain thrumming in her head. She was having problems seeing. "Forget your coffee, you made me bleed!" Proof of that was on the back of her hand. "If you want another one, you can pay for it." Pushing her way past the woman (making sure she didn't touch her at all), Lyn headed back to the counter, ignoring Erik's look of dismay. "The woman who just shoved the door into my face is going to come complain to you soon. I told her I wasn't remaking her spilled coffee for free. Also, there's a spill by the ladies. I'm going outside before I scream at someone.

"I'll be back in ten."