Like I Roll

Coffeehouse Riot

"Espresso with milk, cream and sugar - white, not brown, and make sure the milk is skimmed."

I nodded in confirmation, quickly scribbling the complicated order down. I learnt quickly that people were very picky about their drinks and often managed to find fault even though I'd done nothing wrong. My handwriting had also gone to hell as I hurried to write down an order before I made it.

Pressing a button on the machine - Loki had gleefully showed me it's many secrets - I set a cup underneath it and moved to grab the creamer as a startling crunching noise began to come from the maker of coffee. I swore silently, banging the top in the hope of fixing it.

Several noisy complaints had already started up behind me, so I ignored it when someone yelled, "Hey!", picking up the work phone on the wall to call Elizabeth. A chorus of groans erupted as they realised they would not be getting their coffee.

"Yes?" She asked.

"The coffee machine's broken, and we have a mob of un-satisfied customers." I replied, panic leaking into my voice. I heard her swear loudly. She could put a sailor to shame.

"I'll be there in 5. Just - Stay behind the counter."

As the dial tone played, the feeling of being in over my head overwhelmed me. I couldn't deal with a riot! Turning around to face my doom, I was immediately assailed by tens of angry faces, but in my eyes, the multiplied into an entire legion.

"You idiot! You broke it! What about my coffee?!" One yelled.

Others cheered, in agreement. I backed away, a deer in the headlights of one of the largest group of trucks I'd ever seen. Yet just as I was about to be run over, a single, commanding voice rang out.

"Silence!"

Murmurs ran through the crowds, but steadily quiet descended.

I looked up, eyes moist. The tears came too easily these days.

When my eyes met those of the speaker, I had to blink a few times to make sure my vision had not been obscured and I was mistaken about the identity of the man in front of me.

"Ambrose?" I gasped, astonished. My brain couldn't process this amount of information at the same time.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

At this, he looked amused. It was strange to see him in daylight, the bright lighting only served to highlight his scar. Blonde hair, though still messy, looked clean, yet stubble still graced his face. Light blue eyes stood incredibly bright in his face, sparkling.

"Getting coffee. Yet," He continued, hoisting himself over the counter, "It seems we have a slight technical difficulty."

"You... You can't do that..." I mumbled, struggling to remember that this was the dude who I'd stopped from killing someone in a drunk rage. The dude who was currently examining the broken machine, staring at it admiringly the same way other men looked at sports cars.

"You're a beauty." He murmured, examining the back. "You just need to service the switch. It's easy..." He trailed off, as he took the machine apart quickly in his fingers.

By now I had overcome my shock and merely watched, fascinated, as he quickly fixed the coffee maker like it was nothing.

"And... Fixed." He finished, smirking at me. "Now you can make me a drink."

*

The bell tinkled as the door was shoved open roughly. A dejected looking Elizabeth rushed through the door, almost falling in her haste to get through the doorway. Her eyes, filled with worry, calmed a bit at the sight of me unharmed. Yet confusion filled them at the sight of Ambrose standing next to a working coffee machine that was currently filling a cup with the coffee in question.

Understanding I needed to take the head in this, I quickly stepped forward.

"Elizabeth, this is Ambrose. He's... um... he fixed the coffee machine?"

That last part came out as a question as my face reddened under her knowing stare. However, as she looked him over more thoroughly, her eyes widened in shock as she noticed his distinguishing facial features. As he noticed her gaze, his eyes darkened and an emotion I couldn't read entered his eyes.

Turning towards me, he looked at me for a few moments.

"Goodbye." He simply said, before walking around the counter and towards the door. I didn't think. I just jumped over the counter, following him as though we were opposing magnets.

I didn't look back. If I had, I might have seen Elizabeth's shocked face and the customer's angry looks of disbelief, but instead I only saw Ambrose's dirty blonde hair brushing his shoulders as he walked.

*

Running up behind him, I slowed to a walk by his side.

"It seems you're the one running now." I commented.

He didn't seem surprised at my appearance, and I assumed he'd heard me coming. We continued down the street.

"It's not running if I I'm not wanted." He muttered. My eyebrows shot up.

"You mean the thing with Elizabeth? You can't judge her for that. She was just... looking."

I tried to choose my words carefully, not wanting to antagonise him. He stopped abruptly and turned around sharply, rage leaking into his voice as he struggled to control his anger.

"She wasn't looking at me. She was looking at that," He hissed, gesturing harshly towards his scar. "I can't stay around people like that."

Now I was getting annoyed.

"You didn't even stick around long enough to talk to her! You can't expect everyone just to ignore your scars when they're the first thing a person sees!" I exclaimed.

We'd come to a complete stop now, ignoring the various people around us grumbling in displeasure.

"I didn't need to. I've seen it a hundred times over. You don't know what it's like!"

He combed his fingers through his hair, making it stick up in his frustration.

"Excuse me? I may not have physical representations of my pain, but judging me by my physical appearance is no better that what Elizabeth did! You know NOTHING about me."

This time I exploded, rage running through my veins like molten fire. This man, this boy infuriated me to no end. The arrogance of such a statement!

"I don't need to know you. So what, your boyfriend broke up with you or your mother wouldn't buy you that new bag you need. Stop crying about it and wake up!"

I didn't give him a chance to degrade me anymore, balling my fist before punching him in the face. And, goddammit, it HURT. I winced, shaking my hand slightly before glaring at him straight in his eyes, seeing anger replaced by shock.

"Shut up, and fuck off." I added, before striding away on the wings of my anger, fists shaking in the aftermath.

I wanted to kill him. At that moment, I knew how serial killers felt. Filled with homicidal rage, I forgot myself, who I was and what I felt. The feeling consumed me, and it was addictive in the worst way.

As I hand landed on my shoulder, I also snapped it off, before turning around, streams of swearwords I never knew I knew on the tip of my tongue. But they were all silenced by a pair of large, muscular arms wrapping around me. I was enveloped in the smell of clean soap and fresh water, and stood there, grasping his t-shirt, as he murmured,

"I apologise. My temper is large and easy to set off, but it shouldn't have been on you."

I could barely pay attention to what he was saying before he was gone, and I was left alone standing on the pavement, trying to process what had just happened.

-Yay! It's longer than normal! And I know it seems to be moving very fast, but it'll slow down a lot now. I just needed to establish certain things to lay ground for the greater story line. So look forward to funny filler chapters that seem insignificant. ;D

-SerialArtist593