Tevun-Krus #84 - Best of 2020

Watt's Pad - @sacredlilac - WattPunk

Watt's Pad

A WattPunk story by sacredlilac

The M peeked under his hot chocolate mug at the dew-ring it had made on the shiny wooden countertop. Concentrating hard with his tongue sticking out from the side of his mouth, he focused on picking up his mug and setting it back down in exactly the same spot. 

He glanced over at the big bartender, Watt, whose back was turned. The M dribbled a bit of the sticky goodness over the side to add more fun to his game.

The cocoa-ring probably only had t-minus two minutes before Watt swooped in with a wet cloth to clean up the mess.

Dillydallying like this was bound to get the M in trouble, but he was reluctant to leave Watt's Pad and go out to his shift. He loved his work, but the @FoodKart profile was hard duty for an M.

He'd barely recovered from the last brownie event – what was it about people and chocolate? – when the new taco story and recipe got uploaded and created a whole new buzz around it that he had to keep up with. Maybe it was time to admit he needed to call in another M to help.

He turned to search through the Pad to see who else was there. Letters were hunched over nursing drinks, or steaming bowls if they were lucky, from the small round tables near the door where he was to the sofa-like seats in the deepest recesses.

Since every Letter's main concern was rest and recovery so they could get back out there and keep the words flowing, few looked over like the M did when the soft whooshing of the doors heralded a returning colleague.

He forgot his own agenda of laying low when he saw a W dragging himself in. "Whoa, W, what happened, man?"

The Y and U sitting beside the M at the long counter twisted to see. It took a lot to make a letter look that haggard.

The W's points were dragging behind it. His tips were so far forward they occasionally brushed the ground as he shuffled towards a vacant table. Collapsing into a plush, deep purple chair, he let his tips hang limply over the back.

This time more eyeballs swung to the soft whooshing of the doors. A few gasps were heard when a Y came through, leaning on a wheelbarrow more to keep himself upright than to push along the barely conscious H it contained.

Quiet born of curiosity fell across the Pad.

An A came charging up from the back of the room. There wasn't a peep of protest from any Letter as the P's and Q's pushed aside chairs to make way for her angles.

Everyone minded the P's and Q's, especially in Watt's place, and no one would dare cross this A. She was not only First Letter, she was First Vowel. She could manage a whole multi-profile collaboration all by herself.

Arriving at the exhausted Letters' table, she checked the H's pulse. "Watt! He needs a hit!"

The large, hairy orange barkeep was already in the process of lifting the lid off a monstrous cistern that sat on its tripod of iron legs and bubbled and steamed behind the counter. He always knew who needed a bowl as soon as they hit the door.

The fragrant steam wafted around to all those nearby, perking them up with just that whiff. Watt's secret soup recipe had been known to revive the most worn out Letters and make them capable of performing magic with the words they created.