#Soup Mun Speaks; OOC Post | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thehuggamugcafe · 6 years

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Mun and Muse

OOC: This, my dear followers, is something... out-of-the-ordinary, needless to say.

Caffeine sparked this musing, and I mean a lot of caffeine sparked this musing.

So, um... I guess I kind of self-inserted myself into the café AU, if only for this musing? Um... Please enjoy, I guess? ☕

“Hey, Boss, thanks for that little oneshot to read with my order. It was really spooky!”

“Nothing like a good musing to read while I drink coffee. Thanks, Boss!”

“Keep me posted on future writings, Boss.”

“Amazing work as always! Thanks!”

Such was the typical feedback that Eira received as the customers left the Huggamug Café, whether it was a verbal compliment, or a written one taped or pinned to the small bulletin board that hung on the wall, adjacent to the service counter.

For a few moments, ice blue irises stared at the written words that were scrawled onto little scraps of paper, blinking slowly as she processed the words that all but screamed of admiration for the supposedly mysterious author.

Finally, the dark-haired woman breathed a derisive snort.

“...‘Mysterious’? Yeah, right.”

There were a few things wrong with her customers’ conclusions with the stories that she had supposedly written, to share with her customers and earn their feedback on it.

The first conclusion was that she had written them at all. She hadn’t. She didn’t have a shred of creativity to offer when it came to writing; she didn’t have the patience or the time for it, either. She couldn’t invest hours upon hours of writing anything, let alone thinking of what she was in the mood to write, not when she had a business to run.

The second conclusion was that the “mysterious author” wasn’t wrapped in a veil of mystique, not at all. In fact, not only was she earning her keep at the café in secret, contrary to how the author appeared at first glance...

She was quite shy, in fact.

So it was no surprise to Eira that, after the café closed for the evening, the employees had gone home, and the manager was beginning to doze off, she’d hear the telltale groaning creak as a certain door in the prep area opened. Silence would blanket the first floor of the café before, finally, there’d be a soft click as the door slid shut.

Eira would lie awake in her bed, listening to the soft tap-tap of footsteps as the only other person inside the café crept around on the first floor, stopping suddenly. Most nights, Eira didn’t bother to get up and check, to make sure that she was alright. She’d usually stay awake long enough to hear the footsteps backtracking to that particular room in the prep area, the door opening and sliding shut with a silent click.

The following morning, the manager would be greeted with the sight of a few customers crowded around the small bulletin board, looking quite literally starstruck by the replies written below their comments. Eira didn’t have to see it herself, having seen the author’s writing style firsthand on many accounts; she knew the handwriting was as it always was: legible, but a bit messy.

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“Nothing like something sweet to read to balance the bitter coffee, huh?”

“Thanks for your feedback. I’ll try not to keep you waiting for the next part.”

“Thank you for taking the time to read it.”

Nine times out of ten, the customers would leave requests for the mysterious author to fulfill, jotting them down, taping or pinning them below the “Customers’ Orders” section.

When Eira went to check the bulletin board in the morning, the requests would be missing, as though they hadn’t been there to start with.

Sometimes, there would be a small stack of papers lying innocently at a particular table, waiting for the customer to read it. The story was never a particularly lengthy read; no more than six pages, and rarely longer than eight. Sometimes, the story would be accompanied by a plate of dessert, and a cup of coffee, tea, or hot cocoa, depending on the customer’s preference.

More often than not, however, there would only be a slip of paper with the author’s words written on it, scrawled with the all too familiar legible, but messy handwriting.

“I’m working on your request.”

“I’ll keep you posted.”

“Expect an update soon.”

“Please be patient.”

However...

Whenever Eira was in the prep area, putting together a customer’s order, she’d pause and listen, straining her ears to hear something, anything.

Something other than the fan whirling as she all but lorded over the stove.

Anything other than the pot of bubbling stew or soup.

Something, anything at all would have been fine with the young manager.

Finally, she heard it, exactly what she wanted to hear.

A cough that was stifled by a forearm.

The soft squeak of a chair as the person occupying it shifted where she sat.

The telltale clicks and clacks as the keys of a laptop were hit. The pace of the author’s typing was hardly ever the same. Sometimes, the keystrokes would be slow, methodical, as though the person’s thoughts were carefully trickling out from her mind, pouring out from her fingertips, and splashing onto the word document that was open in front of her.

Sometimes, the keys would be mashed so quickly that it was a wonder the laptop didn’t spontaneously combust, even miraculous, and yet...

Oftentimes, whenever Eira had a few minutes to herself during her break, she’d enter the prep area. She’d stop in front of a certain door, pausing to listen before reaching for the doorknob and slowly, carefully turning it before prying it open, peeking in through a small crack in the door.

The thin line of luminescence shone into the room, casting its gentle light over random surfaces and knick-knacks. A work desk with an old TV set, an equally old game system complimented with a retro game controller set up in front of the television, and directly in front of the television screen and video game system was a cushioned wooden chair. Next to the old-school game system were a few other, more modern game systems plugged into the power cord, all plugged into a socket in the wall, ready to be played at a moment’s notice. Scattered across the work desk were various cases, video games that stuck to horror-survival, RPG-style, and thriller/psychological genres.

Two small bookshelves were pushed up against the wall on the left-hand side of where the old-school game station was set up, stuffed with various how-to books, novels and manga of various types, all sorted in alphabetical order.

A few sketchbooks and some art supplies were set in a small space in the bookshelves, ready to be used whenever the owner felt the itch to sketch.

A mini fridge was plugged into the wall next to the bookshelves, gently humming away. Eira knew it was stuffed with various cavity-causing snacks, drinks, and some containers of a few healthy things, mostly ginger-infused rice pudding and fruit-flavoured yogurt.

In all honesty, at first glance, it spoke of—and technically it was—a leisure room. A place for someone to get away from all the hub-bub of the café, if only for a short while.

However, what mattered most in the room was where the glow of a computer screen could be seen, a laptop to be more precise, glaring its bland illumination over a face framed with dark hair. An upbeat song softly blared out from the headset that rested on the woman’s shoulders, clothed by the gray-and-black striped hoodie she wore. The dark colours looked a bit... off, clashing with the bright green apron that was tied around her waist.

The young woman’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, frozen in place. Her lips pursed to form a frown, brows pinching the slant of her eyes, coldly glaring at the blank document in front of her.

Well, it was mostly blank, anyway. Eira could just barely make out a title, and a few short paragraphs of text underneath the title, but other than that...

It was clear that her secret helper appeared to be in what was known as a “writer’s rut,” or so she’d heard it was called.

A knock at the door caused the woman to tear her eyes away from the screen, blinking owlishly at the manager as the glare slowly left her pale visage.

Silence, and then...

A soft “yeah, Ei?” came from the woman, and were she anyone else, Eira would have snapped at her to speak more clearly, but she didn’t.

Bly always put up a brave front, but she was more timid than she let herself on to be. She hated being snapped at or shouted at, even if it was Eira doing it.

“...Break’s over, Bly. Back to learning the ropes.”

“I’m comin’, Ei.”

That was Bly’s reply as she slid the top of the laptop down, pausing only to remove the headset and setting it aside. The chair she sat in squeaked as Bly used her sneaker-covered feet to move the chair; there was a second squeak as she got up, as the chair was relieved of her weight. The dark-haired woman stuffed her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, walking over to where Eira stood, pausing to look at her.

Bly’s hazel irises met Eira’s icy gaze, but if the manager wanted to lean in closer, she would have caught a faint, very faint hint of a ring of blue circling the shorter woman’s gaze.

There were light bags under her eyes, making her hazel eyes look darker than they normally would have been. The signs of light insomnia gave her gaze a look of eternal sleepiness; the yawn that she covered with a hand further drove the inclination home that, yes, she always appeared as though she just climbed out of bed.

After a few moments of eye contact, Bly cleared her throat, raising a hand to rub the back of her neck.

Smiling sheepishly, Bly asked, “...So... What horrendous torture will you put me through this time, Ei? Stew? Bread rolls? Bread?”

Eira rolled her eyes heavenward, breathing a sarcastic “haha” as she voiced a soft “tsk.” She ignored the soft, but clear joking undertone Bly’s soft, mousy voice had.

“Dessert.”

Bly’s eyes shone with interest as she reiterated, “Dessert?” She sounded just as excited as she looked.

“Shortcake.”

“Can I have some of the leftovers this time? Ren doesn’t look like someone who appreciates sweet things, but he always hogs them to himself. What a sweet-hogging whore.”

Smiling slightly, Eira replied, “...I’ll put some aside for you.”

“Now you’re talking my language; let’s get baking, Boss!”

#persona 5 #p5 #original character #thehuggamugcafe's original character #eira rundström #ren amamiya #incubus!ren #honourable mention #bly makes an appearance at last!#I have no honest clue what this is #but I hope it's enjoyable!

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