Cauldron Cafe

A Slow Night

    The sky was a deep grey above the stone shop, light from the moon reflecting off the morning dew that covered everything. On the horizon, light was growing and grey slowly turned to pink. A figure lumbered down the quiet street with four heavy feet stirring up dust behind it.
    The Chomby came to the front of the shop and with a deft flick of his tail tapped the secret stone that unlocked the door. It was an interesting system. Some part architecture, some part magic but he couldn’t claim to understand it. His brother had actually enchanted and installed the materials as a grand opening gift.
    The soft lights that shone from some of the stones in the ceiling were enchanted by his brother as well, they changed color based on the overall vibe of the room, which was perfect for the cafe. Plodding through the cafe, behind the bar and into the kitchen the Chomby donned his pink apron with his name embroidered on the front in a cheery, bold font. Sorceror.
    Sure, it wasn’t the correct spelling but he’d still always felt a pressure behind that name. Like there was an expectation for him to perform some fantastic feats. Like he should clearly, obviously pursue a grand adventure. However the wilds of Neopia simply weren’t the adventure he was seeking. Instead he felt there was adventure in meeting new people, in a growing community, in a business. He felt that providing service to his fellow Neopians was a virtuous cause and he’d found that purpose for himself here in the cafe. And now, it was time to work his magic.

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    The blue and red juppies were sizzling in the skillet, a sweet buttery scent rose first from them and then mere moments later a sharp kick of spice. Scent was an enormous part of cooking and drink crafting, Sorceror had a knack for it too, he could tell the juppies needed a few more minutes on the heat even though he was at the counter opposite the stove mixing the icing quickly with his tail wrapped around the whisk.
    The icing was a bright orange. It had taken him days to pick out the color and even now his heart raced a little when he thought about it. Would anyone say anything if it were the wrong color? Would they sell? He hadn’t seen an orange Grundo in his life, or even a Grundo at all but Grundo Independence Day was coming up and he intended to celebrate them in the shop all the same. He had done special biscuits for every species of neopet for the week leading up to their official holiday.
    Dripping from the whisk the icing looked almost like it was glowing. He brought the whisk to his mouth before tossing it into the sink behind him, it was a light but sweet flavor. Benyeroberry, something he’d tasted on one of his family's trips to Lutari Island. The tropical flavor suited the blazing summer they’d been having this year.
    He stepped over to remove the juppies from the heat and then opened the oven a crack and peered in. Three enormous loaves of bread were baking inside, the one on the right had cracked from the heat and exposed the seeds and nuts inside. He didn’t mind that the bread had cracked, it would bring just as much joy and sustenance no matter how it looked.
    He hoped business picked up today. The family wasn’t hurting for money but the market had been less busy than usual. It seemed also that the morale around him had been lower, so many neopians were struggling in Year 22 and Sorceror couldn’t help but find himself wishing he could help in some way. Then he chuckled at himself. A chef, barista, shopkeeper and now a hero. Is that right? How could he even-
    The sun blazed through the large window in the cafe and shone into the kitchen. He squinted against the blinding light. Sure, he’d be a hero too. Just as soon as he got the shop open on time. Just once.

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    He propped the shop door open and pushed the cart of bread samples out the doors a few feet. Looking around the day as shaping up to be gorgeous, the sky still held osme pink but largely had given way to a brilliant blue and large swaths of fluffy white clouds. Maybe something with air faeries and whipped cream clouds, he wondered, but what flavor do you give air? He turned and walked back inside pondering. 
    Behind the coffee bar, the steam wand whirred at a high pitch. A sound somewhere between a blizzard and a tearing of paper. His tail wrapped lithely around the stone pitcher, indifferent to the heat, the milk bubbling and steaming inside. The steam shut off automatically at the desired temperature he held in his thoughts and he pulled the small pitcher away from the wand. He gazed down at the hot foam inside and tapped the pitcher once lightly against the counter, bursting the few bubbles that had been inside.