C-BAD-027
Barista: Rachel Rosethorn
Date: Jan-14-2020
Receipt: C-BAD-027
Subject: Omens
As we ventured through the barrow—we reached a room that was circular and narrow. The fear and weight of such a place sunk deep into our marrow—as if our hearts had been struck by a crow fletched arrow. At the center sat the ███████ ██ ███ ███ ██ ████—and beneath her, and beneath us all, a gate. A door yet unsealed to a world brand new. Except, how new could it be if the ████ was someone I already knew? If deals were struck with ███████ long ago… how long do you suppose the ██████████ has sat waiting for us down below? How long has ██████ and his minions tore up its land? How long has all of this been planned?
S.O.T.
[The chamber was vast, circular—its walls etched with timeworn carvings. Kings crowned in battle. Spirals leading nowhere. Shadows of wars lost and won.
And at the far end, seated upon a throne of weathered stone, she waited.
████. ███ ████████.
She was both young and old, shifting with the candlelight. Her feathered cloak rustled—not with movement, but with whispers. Like the stirring of a thousand unseen wings.
The room held its breath. Then—]
████: Ah, at last. Crawling through dust and dark, seeking what you do not yet understand. Come. Bear witness to the beginning of the end.
[Her voice echoed—layered, rippling, as if many voices spoke through her at once. She leaned forward, black eyes gleaming.]
████: And you, █████, we meet again—for the third time.
[Rachel stiffened. But she did not step back.]
Rachel: …Third time?
████: Ja. Erinnerst du dich? Die Krähen markieren ihr Eigentum.
Rachel: …███████ ██████?
[Jean-Marc stepped forward, straightened his shoulders—but the weight of the moment settled heavier.]
Jean-Marc: We didn’t come here for riddles. We want answers.
[████ tilted her head—slow, deliberate, birdlike.]
████: Want. Such a small word for such vast desires. Tell me, Bastard of Baltimore—do you know what it is you stand upon?
Jean-Marc: The Otherworld.
████: Clever. But wrong. You should put more faith in your own eyes. It’s a tomb.
[Julia inhaled sharply as her mark pulsed, the Barrow itself seeming to shift in response.]
Julia: It’s not just a tomb.
████: No. I suppose it is not. It is a door. A hinge in the great turning of things. And you, child of the Morningstar, bear the key without yet knowing the lock.
[Julius took a step closer, standing between ████ and Julia, his posture tense.]
Julius: If you’re only here to give cryptic warnings, get on with it. Otherwise, get to the point.
[████ smiled—too many teeth.]
Zach: The ██████████—what is it? It’s not like the █████████, is it? It doesn’t play by the same rules—yet it’s not something new. It can’t be. It’s steeped in old legends. Myths.
[████ regarded him for a long moment before speaking.]
████: ███ █████████ ██ █ █████ █████ ████ ████████ ███ █████. ███████. ███ ██████████? ██ ██ █████. ██████. It does not trade. It takes. And yet, it gives, as well.
[Max folded their arms, unimpressed by the theatrics.]
Max: Great. And what does that mean for us?
[████ let out a laugh—low, rippling like a coming storm.]
████: You stand at the edge of a war not yet seen. The fated frenzy. You walk in the footprints of those who set the pieces long before you. You ask what it means for you? Nothing.
[She stood, feathers shifting like restless crows.]
████: Nothing has meaning at the end.
[The words settled heavy in the air. The candlelight guttered, the chamber itself seeming to shrink around them. Julia clutched her arm, her mark burning with something beyond pain.]
Jean-Marc: ...You made a deal with ███████.
[The Cafe inhaled as one, eyes snapping to Jean-Marc.]
████: I did.
Jean-Marc: What were the terms?
[████ stepped closer, so close they could feel the cold breath of something ancient brushing against their skin.]
████: The answer is already written upon her flesh.
[Her gaze flickered to Julia, and for a moment, there was something almost… amused in her expression.]
████: Oh, how she tried to keep it from you. Or how she tried to keep you from it. From her. Poor thing.
[Julia’s breath hitched.]
Julia: What does it mean?
[████’s grin sharpened.]
████: Turn the page, little star, and find out.
[And with that, the chamber erupted. A storm of black feathers. The candles guttered out. The sound of wings filled the air—thousands of them, rushing like a cyclone. When the darkness settled, she was gone. Silence. Heavy. Crushing. Then, Jean-Marc exhaled, running a hand through his hair.]
Jean-Marc: Well. That was dramatic.
[Max scoffed.]
Max: Dramatic? You think?
[Rachel looked to the others, her expression unreadable—miles away in Germany, many years ago.]
Rachel: So… do we turn back?
[Julia looked down at her arm. The mark pulsed once.]
Julia: No.
[She met their gazes, one by one. Uncertainty flickered. But beneath it? Something steadier. Warmer. Resolute.]
Julia: We turn the page.
E.O.T.
Decaffeinate Receipt
“The Corvine.”
Research | 2 Words