Chapter Text
A modest room covered with royal blue walls. Cluttered with books, papers, and knickknacks held up by dresser drawers. Neatly stacked piles of video games hunched in a corner closest to its games system and a 15” flat-screen TV. On a whitewood twin-sized bed, a thick dual-colored comforter shields the person wrapped underneath- stretching and half turning every so often.
The squirming form settles once more, a loud blaring of an alarm jerks the person to an upright position. Frazzled dreadlocks emerge from the cotton cocoon – deep chocolate hands slowly pulling away sheets, as eyes blink hazily into alert hazel irises. Slipping from the bed, the form stands tall of 5’5 with a chubby build. A yawn causes them to arch their back, eyes sliding shut and arms raised skywards.
‘Alright,’ she sighs, ‘Time to start the day.’
-~~~-
Precisely one shower, teeth brushing and the full set of casual clothing change later, the young adult grinds coffee beans into a small hand crank coffee grinder as a clean yet empty French press is placed closely. A few moments later, a significant pile of ground coffee is slowly shuffled into the press; hot water is followed and the top is covered. Dully gazing through the phone, eyes flicker to the clock that reads 4:30 AM, and slowly shoves her palm onto the top level of the French press, forcing the grinds to the bottom of the glass container. Filling a cream and blue-colored mug halfway and dunking in sugar and milk to complete the remainder.
Accompanying the coffee is a hefty slice of banana bread; dotted with walnuts and a top portion coated in dark chocolate. Breakfast is quickly devoured; dishes rinsed and left behind in the sink as the young adult collects their messenger bag, coat, wallet, and keys before slipping into a pair of sneakers before leaving the apartment, locking the door behind them.
Open elevator ride into the dimly lit garage and starting up a modesty old jeep, the ebony female places her belongings in the passenger seat and fiddles with the radio. She settles for smooth jazz – securing the seat belt and checking the rearview mirror and side mirrors before slowly exiting the garage as the door automatically opens. Once out on the dark dawn of the open road, the purple-tinted sky has been lighting up into blood orange, pink and yellow. Traffic is practically nonexistent during the drive; parks into a parking lot on the side building – twenty minutes – a new personal best. Gathering her belongings once more, the young adult locks the car and walks to the front of the building.
Mostly built of brick, steel, and glass; a modern look for most establishments these days, as the woman peers through the glass door to see two people shuffling about. Pulling on the door she lets herself in and greets the employees.
“Morning guys, what needs to get done this morning?”
A lanky auburn-haired male with pale blue eyes and freckles yawns before answering. “Morning Amaya, coffee is all brewed and the espresso machine ready to go. Me and Nat got a lot of restocking and set up ready.
Nat , a petite brunette, is hunched by a miniature fridge compartment, spares a slow glance and hazy greeting before resettling herself in the task of checking iced teas, coffee, and assortments of milks.
“Morning Amaya.... give Pat and Martha a hand in the back they’re at it again.
Amaya flexes a thick eyebrow in question as she stains to listen down the hall. “I thought we agreed that the more complicated stuff was for the weekend prep?”
Her fellow coworkers unanimously scoff. Nat stands a meager five feet tall before lounging over the counter like a house cat. “Y’know Arthur and I thought the same thing until Pat insisted about quality and blah blah blah. I’m over it, really.”
Arthur nods, “Yes they do this every time! Pat wants to do everything fresh! I-I mean that’s perfectly fine, but it’s the bread and cinnamon buns and croissants that take fucking forever!”
Amaya sighs placing the coat on the coat hanger and bag in the office before returning to her fellow coworkers. “And let me take a wild guess, they happen to do this bullshit when I’m off schedule?”
A bitter chuckle from Nat. “Fuck yeah they do, too cowardly to do jack when you show up. Since you’re the actual chef.”
“So,’ Arthur tentatively points down the corridor, ‘you might want to stop whatever they are trying to do.”
“I’m also guessing they threatened to sick the boss on you guys which is why you’re not defending my kitchen?”
“Yep.”Nat stretches before pouring herself a cup of coffee.
“P-pretty much,’ flusters Arthur as he drums his fingers on the drink counter.
“Goddammit. I’ll have to call the lovely Samantha then.”
It's Nat’s turn to raise a perfectly manicured brown eyebrow. “ Oh really, Amaya? I thought you liked us.
Amaya scoffs and playfully sticks out a rose-colored tongue. “I do, but I like money more.” Ignoring the indignant mock cries of disapproval, she continues, “Nah, those two have been trying my patience... I originally did this job as a favor. If Sam doesn’t cut the shit with those two after I warned them constantly about playing chef when those dipshits aren’t even ServSafe certified, the next chef can take care of that problem.”
“I t-thought chefs don’t make a lot of money,’ Arthur mumbles.Amaya gives a bark of laughter startling him.
“Oh honey, not all chefs are like that. Most, but not all. Not to mention I pride myself to learn other trades. Also, we still can hang out even if I leave yeah?”
They all nod grinning at one another. Arthur gives another meek nod. “ A- alright.” He points down the corridor again. “The floor is yours.”
The chef makes a sweeping bow to the two behind the counter. “The public awaits.” She leaps a third of the corridor in a single bound shouting “Au voir” as she’s out of sight. The last she hears from the front of the store is gleeful snickering. Straightening up, Amaya lightly changes the pace as to not be heard and peers into one of the circular mirrors in the double doors leading to the kitchen, studying the two less liked coworkers. One of them was an assistant manager but less liked all the same. Pat stood tall and sun-kissed with tawny dark locks and darker brown eyes fussed over two trays of par frozen cinnamon buns. Martha, a pale thick woman had her long fiery mane pulled back in a thick ponytail as green eyes harshly glared at her task; a large sad lump of dough overworked unable to rise until probably later in the evening, if not tomorrow. Taking a deep breath as she pulls away from the window, slamming the doors wide open startling the two interlopers.
“Morning.”
The duo is paused awkwardly, stiff thrown off by the older woman’s presence. The male snaps out of it first plastering a fake smile,
“Morning chef! We took the liberty of –'
“No.”
His face falls. The younger woman beside him winces and flaps her jaw, “I –I mean we, h-he, we wanted to put the buns and beads for today…”
Amaya fixes the two with a cold stare as she edges closer to the two imbeciles, a mantra in her subconscious that she can’t and won’t kill them. They both flinch, as reading her face tells otherwise.
“SO,’ She paused. “So,’ Better she thinks. “ You two, decided to come into my kitchen, which by the way yes I’m working today so get those dumb fucking stares off your faces, you come into my kitchen, threaten Arthur and Nat from entering the kitchen, who by the way are ServSafe certified which you two are not, to see you fucking up my production for Wednesday. Is. That. Correct?”
Pat seemingly recovers again puffing his chest in defiance. “As an assistant manager –
That was apparently the wrong thing to say.
“WHO GIVES A FUKING SHIT?!” Amaya roars as Martha and Pat back away in fear. Amaya just follows. “One, you are not my boss, Samantha is, get that through your fucking skull! Two, again you two spoiled brats are not, I repeat, are not ServSafe certified which puts the establishment in danger! Three, I don’t care what cravings you have, what is scheduled for the week is scheduled for the week, no exceptions unless Samantha and I say so!”
The foolish duo is huddled into the door of a large walk-in fridge. Amaya stares them down before taking in a large inhale through her nose, holds it briefly, and then exhales through the mouth. She allows her posture to slouch in a relaxed manner. The two merely stare at the chef baffled.
“I am going to the front. I am going to the front to get myself the strongest flat white on this side of the state and eat my breakfast. You two” She snaps her fingers and points, drawing a subtle squeak from Pat, “ you two fuckups are going to put back those fucking cinnamon rolls where you found them as well as any other shit you took out. I want that dough in a large greased bowl and covered so it has a chance to rise. Then clean down the kitchen.” She turns away from the two walking back to the double doors stiffly then pauses once she has both hands on the doors. Staring straight ahead she hisses, “You two have exactly thirty minutes to get this place clean top to bottom.”
Silence.
“And God help you if you don’t.” She pushes through the doors and walks back to the front, as the doors slam and briefly catch someone crying. Pressing onto the front area, jazz has filtered through the ceiling speakers as Arthur and Nat clap. With a strained smile, Amaya returns to her fellow co-workers.
Nat pushes a steaming flat white in a glass mug to her. “God I love white privilege tears in the morning.” Arthur and _- snort.
“You’re white too,’ Amaya laughs. Nat nimbly wags a rouge-painted finger exclaiming, “I’m Jewish, the other fun side of repressed minorities.”
Arthur holds up his arms as if at gunpoint. “No. Nope, not part of this conversation. Chef, what pastry do you want that’s on display?”
She lazily points to a section of scones. “Whichever, please. Also, a danish for our guest.”
The two baristas look at each other in confusion. Nat is the one who speaks up. “Uhh, Amaya you may want to sit down from all the yelling –‘
Slowly taking a coin from the tip jar, the young woman flicks it to a two-seated space behind her. Instead of seeing the coin sail across the room to the floor, it hits the air before dropping suddenly. A flicker of light and a young man in a lab coat, face covered with a paper bag, goggles and thick yellow lab gloves tentatively rub the front of the bag where the nose would be. The two baristas squawk in surprise as the young man mutters about his sore nose and pride.
“How did you know?! That cloaking device was perfect!!”
Amaya merely blinks in awe; captivated by how only the goggles heighten the emotion of the young man's voice as the rest of his face is covered. She slowly smiles which seems to make the man tense.
“Well to be completely honest Mr. –‘
“Syls.”
“Mr. Syls, I’m presuming you are a scientist due to the coat and device yes? Yes. Your invention is perfect -‘ She looks at the young scientist as his eyes practically water with recognition upon praise, “ but you snuck in right behind me - the mornings are cold and a hot breath on my neck is one way to get someone’s morning started. Just not mine.”
The young scientist sputters as Amaya's compatriots have a good chuckle at the innuendo. She merely waits for Slys to calm before continuing.
“Now if you came in around’, she checks her phone, ‘ the five-thirty morning rush you would have blended in effortlessly even without the device. Though I don’t see why you would need to sneak in at all.”
Nat, walking from behind the counter hands the chef her coffee as she peers at the bagged scientist. She gasps. “Amaya! That’s Flug Syls! I’ve seen him on TV on HeroReport! He’s the scientist who works for Black Hat!”
The man, first name Flug, tenses as the two baristas warily glance at him and the chef. The chef merely blinks in confusion and boredom.
“Guys you know I’m out of town. Who is Black Hat?”
Silence. Then immediate uproar.
“I know you’re not from around here but come on –
“He’s the most dangerous-
“How do you not know who Black hat is?!” The young scientist shouts failing his arms. “He’s the most ruthless, cunning, prestigious villain in the world!” Amaya merely looks to her friends who dumbly nod. Amaya looks back to the scientist and then at her coffee, which wasn’t scalding but still hot. She sighs. Then sits down in the vacant seat opposite the young man and motions him to sit down. He reluctantly does so. She sips her long-awaited drink before peering into unsure goggles.
“Arthur.”
“Y-yes chef?!”
“A large cold brew, no ice with two and a half pumps of vanilla, a splash of cream with a straw.”
“…Amaya? Umm you know he’s…”
“Please and thank you, Arthur.”
Arthur, like a scolded puppy, hastily makes the drink for the mad scientist he’s seen and read on tv reports and newspapers. Nat shakily rests her hands on the young woman’s broad shoulders.
“Umm, should I call the –
“Nope!’ The chef merely turns her head to the side giving a reassuring smile. “Just grab my scone and danish for our guest. Also, check on the dumb asses in the kitchen for me.”
A small giggle cuts through the tension a sliver as Nat silently bounds to the counter, then the table than away to the kitchen, grateful for the exit. The scientist stares at the chef as they are fully engrossed in breakfast. Halfway through a ginger lemon scone Amaya pauses cleansing her palate after another gulp of coffee.
“Okay, you’re a villain as my coworkers say and I’m inclined to believe them since they’re pretty trustworthy and freaked out when they saw you. But why a café man? Unless you just want coffee then by all means we would love another regular.”
The bagged man tilts his head in confusion. “Um no, I-I mean I love coffee but – oh wow this is awkward...” He rummages in the right of the white lab coat until pulling out a small cream envelope with a red wax seal. Indented in the wax is the sigil of a Victorian top hat. Amaya releases a wolf whistle, startling Arthur and the scientist, the latter’s neck turning a sporting a flushed hue.
“Fancy.”’The chef huffs examining the envelope between her fingers. “And is this intended for me or my employer?”
Flug shrugs helplessly, “I-I was told to give it to whoever is in charge. A-and you seem to be the most intimidating…”
Amaya winces gently placing the envelope down. “I guess it’s no brainer that you heard the commotion down the hall then?”
The scientist nods downright eagerly, eyes shining in admiration. Nat returns placing a warm raspberry Danish on a ceramic plate to Flug and retreats back to the bar as Arthur snickers as he cleans glasses. The ebony woman scratches her scalp, parting through dreaded locks before pulling out her phone once more to glance at the clock.
“Well, Sam doesn’t come in until eight which is quite a long time to wait if the note is intending for her –
“Well, I want you to have it.” Amaya blinks back in shock, sitting up straight. The scientist seems to have found his voice; stutter nonexistent and firm as his seated frame extrudes confidence. Picking up the envelope once more, the young woman gently opens the wax seal and wiggles out the neatly folded paper opening it slowly as a smaller note card and quill tumble to the wooden table surface. The note reads:
“To the owner(s) of Rosesmith café,
If my barely competent underling delivered this message timely, this note is to inform you that your establishment has been selected to provide refreshments for my upcoming soiree on the twenty-first of this month.
Your incentive is clipped below. I fully expect to hear from you in person within three days to discuss the menu and other topics that may arise.
If this request is too difficult or untimely on your part, please read and fill the small card with the quill. I sincerely hope that you won’t have to.
Formally yours,
Black Hat
-~~~-
Reading the note four more times, __ places the letter down before inspecting the small card. It reads:
I will attend [ ]
I won’t attend [ ]
Studying the card more closely, Amaya blinks as her eyes water suddenly and glancing at the card once more - nearly choking in shock as the card has changed. Under the ‘I won’t attend’ check box a golden asterisk has appeared, and a golden arrow points to the other side. Flipping the card in golden cursive reads ‘upon refusal, the reader(s) forfeits their soul’. Amaya gapes at the card before firmly placing the card down before picking back up the letter again. Now for the fifth time, the letter reads exactly the same, but the chef finally notices a distinct gold paperclip holding a folded pale grey piece of paper. She slowly opens it to reveal a check that states -
The young chef practically slams her palms together on the check, startling everyone in the area. She shakily stares at her hands before turning her gaze to the scientist swearing that his gaze looks overly smug.
“Yes?” He practically purrs, fiddling with his drink straw. She looks down at his drink and plate; cold brew half-finished and danish crumbs all over the plate.
‘He must have eaten while I was reading,’ She muses internally before clearing her throat. “T-This is a lot of money even for catering. And I’ve done my fair share in the past.”
Flug is practically beaming as his gloved fingers tap along the plastic cup producing a merry sound. “My boss is a very serious person and means what he says.” A chuckle slips out staring at the woman’s flabbergasted face. “So, your answer?”
His tone and eyes point downwards to the black silken card. Amaya takes a large inhale and holds it and exhales. She slowly turns her head to the baristas.
“Guys, can one of you grab the calendar from the office?”
Arthur speeds off like a rabbit hopping over the drink counter, dashing down the hall partway to the office before dashing to the chef’s side. Mumbling thanks, Amaya glances at the current month studying the upcoming events. A few community farmers markets and a few music venues in the house but the calendar is mostly empty around the requested date from the mysterious commissioner. Taking out a blue pen, she writes catering events on the twenty-first and circles around it three times. Flug reaches over with the miniature quill, drawing a miniature top hat on the date before pushing the card closer to the chef who then checks the box for ‘I will attend. Flug takes the quill and note card but leaves behind the letter and envelope, standing to his feet with a free hand out. __ slowly stands as well and firmly shakes his hand gifting the quickest of smiles despite the gnawing feeling of dread in her stomach.
“Until next time then,” the scientist nods pocketing the notecard and quill in one pocket, grabs his drink, and leaves the establishment as the jingle of the bell announces his exit. The chef promptly collapses back into the chair, the two baristas rushing over.
“Hey! Are you okay?”
“What the hell happened?”
Amaya leans back into the chair closing her eyes to all the bullshit. She counts aloud backward from twenty, before reopening her eyes looking at her friends. “Apparently the elusive Black Hat is hiring our services as of today for the 21st of this month.”
“That’s insane!” Nat exclaims as Arthur frets over the letter and calendar. “And he’s, like, super villain status! If we don’t do this we're screwed!”
The young chef mutely nods. “That’s basically the gist of it, yeah.”
Arthur tears his gaze from the papers to the chef. “B-but didn’t M-Mr.Slys… I –I mean Flug tell you that you c-could refuse?”
A feeble cackle slips from the stout woman’s mouth. “No, he didn’t, because the card he took heavily implied refusing would produce very negative results.”
Nat, looking as if she is about to cry can only whisper, “Samantha is going to kill you.” Arthur winces but nods in agreement. __ sighs deeply.
“Not if he does first.” She flips the empty envelope over tapping the wax sigil. As the baristas shiver in fear, __ checks her phone for the third time: the clock reads ten minutes to 5:30 am. Only ten minutes to calm down, get their shit together, and get ready for customers. Fuck. The ebony chef loosely waves her phone at her coworkers who faintly acknowledge the device.
“Ten-minute meditation?”
Nat and Arthur pull up extra chairs and collapse into them.
“Yes please”
“Merciful God, yes”
And then they do.
-~~~-
A hesitant drive to the southwest side of Hatsville, lies a protected mirrored street that very few know of. Driving through a pocket of the rift, Flug parks outside the black iron gates that protect a literal hat structured mansion. Hastily leaving the safety of the car, the skinny scientist darts up the pathway and opens the door entering a Victorian-styled foyer. Once inside the door slams shut behind him but Flug presses on, used to it. Most of his confidence seeps out of him once he reaches tall, black foreboding double doors. He shakily produces three knocks against the dark wooden door.
“Mister black hat sir?”
The door opens as the back of a red chair greets the scientist. Flug swallows. “S-sir, I was able to d-deliver your letter.”
A deep gravelly voice answers, “And?”
Flug shuffles in place. “W-well the owner wasn’t there but-
The chair whips impossibly fast, revealing a tall dark grey hued humanoid being snarling at the scientist with green shark-like teeth as one eye has thinned into a ruby slit as the other is glossed over by a thick glass monocle. The imposing shadow is truly heightened by a lavish black top hat with rouge sash middle.
“FLUG.”
The scientist feebly shakes and does all he can to not run from his boss. That never ends well. “B-Boss! Please, t-the owner wasn’t there, I-I know b-but the chef w-was! S-she even s-signed it!” He quickly yet gently reveals the silken black card.
The being stands proudly about seven feet, easily beating the scientists’ fragile gangly stature of six. At a neck-breaking place, he is in front of Flug, the only telltales of movement are the tails of a black cape. He wears a red dress shirt and black tie which is secured by a silver-grey vest. Black dress pants show off impressively long legs and snazzy onyx dress shoes protected by cream white spats. Clawed fingers snatch the card as a critical eye slowly checks the card.
“And so she has. Why did you take so long?” A cane appears seemingly out of nowhere and Flug tenses harder than steel.
“P-please-’ He takes one step back to have his boss hunch over threateningly with the cane.
Whack
A short startled yelp bursts from the scientist as he is hit in the leg and crumples effortlessly like newspaper. His boss practically towers over him now, waiting with the cane raised again.
“B-black Hat, boss, j-jeffectio, please, s-she wanted to talk!”
A rapid-fire of firm lashes on the same leg. Flug warbles out a cry. A sharp grin beams over Flug. “Oh? And what was so captivating?” The boss’s monstrous grin tappers off into a snarl as he raises the cane again. Flug curls into a ball defeated.
“Please! She didn’t know who you are!”
A deadly pause. The cane stamps disturbingly close to Flug’s bagged face that is stained with tears.
“Say that again.”
“I-I swear to you boss,’ the young scientist hiccups,‘s-she really doesn’t know who you are!”
Black Hat crouches over his employee who flinches much to his delight. “Is that right? Explain.”
“A-apparently she –
“Name.”
“Her c-coworkers called her __, sir.”
“Amaya....nothing… odd. Keep going Flug.”
“Apparently she m-moved into the area recently,’ Flug rasps grateful he isn’t being beaten again. “ I’d estimate a few months since she doesn’t care about villains.” His boss lowers his face closer to the humans’ own.
“And why would that be?”
Flug gulps and mimics the breathing the chef did moments earlier in the café. It somewhat helps as he answers, “Well, she didn’t panic or have anyone call the police on me.”
Black Hat slowly blinks sampling another interesting tidbit of information. “Curious…keep going.”
“She could see through my new invention –
“What?!” The cane whips through the air with a crack but is held as Flug screams in protest.
“Boss no!” Flug starts to heave in fear. “There was nothing wrong with it! I worked on that project for months! She just …saw me. Next thing I knew she just wanted to talk, honest! What took the most time is that she kept re-reading the letter and reply card!”
Once again the corporeal being in the suave suit halts on punishment, overwhelmed with curiosity by this mystery woman. “And why did she do that?”
Flug musters his courage to look up at his boss who is smiling devilishly at him. “I-I think she can read the clause Boss. It’s the only reason she re-read everything. I think she might be a mutant!”
Black Hat chuckles before standing. Flug looks further up confused. “No dear Doctor, not a mutant.” He takes the card from the breast pocket he tucked it away in. His eye re-slits and glows an eerie mottled red. The card has flickering orange wisps. The demon snorts at Flug’s wimpy aura. He refocuses on the card, only to squint at a shimmering silver royal blue that curls around the clause. Black Hat shudders in delight which spikes Flug’s fear into overdrive.
“Sir? I-if I m-may ask?”
The cane is gone as quick as it came, the monstrous man leaning over the scientist, dastardly claws interlocked behind his back. He grins again with neo luminous drool peeking from the edges of his mouth edging him the appearance of a ravenous wolf.
“Consider me gracious Flug as this will be your only punishment for the day. You have stumbled upon something I thought was lost in this plane of existence – a Mage.”
-~~~-
In a sterilized laboratory, the lanky scientist known as Flug Syls has replaced his paper bag after a meeting with his boss. He winces, taking a moment to lightly rub the left leg gingerly before attending to his computer system. Straightening his back, Flug’s spine cracks in protest for being seated for so long. The bags under his goggles under his eyes blur as he tries for the umpteenth time to find anything else on Amaya Owens. He has the basics; id registry, license, Facebook and LinkedIn page, some assorted pictures but nothing else. Neither arrests nor misdemeanors, absolutely nothing from other towns or countries. It was simply maddening.
“As if scrubbed clean.” Flug finally slumps into his computer chair defeated but relieved that the search was over for now. Peace was shattered when a shrill ‘Fluuug!!’ howled as the laboratory door burst open. A thin pale young woman leaps into the lab, long emerald mane trailing behind her. Hopping up on a metal desk knocking over papers and metal and glass pieces, the full-of-life female adjusts red frontal bangs as most of her head is covered by a comical lizard hat with horns poking out the sides. One golden reptilian eye contrasts a dark hazel eye dart back and forth to the multiple computer screens and then the scientist with a fanged grin.
“Still researching the baker huh?”
A weary heavy sigh escapes Flug.“Yes, Demencia. And I would like to keep working before Black Hat returns. Please leave.” With no other acknowledgment, the young scientist tacks away at a worn black keyboard, his gaze turning to different monitor screens every so often. With a flick of an abnormally long tongue, the young mutant groans before hopping off the counter. Staring at the upper left monitor, Demetica gasps, spinning the swivel chair roughly startling the scientist.
“w-what the hell!
“Shut it nerd!” tapping an onyx polished fingernail upon the bottom of her chin, dementia hops back on the table and onto the wall points to the photo of the chef, a seemingly old one as she is young fully dressed head to toe in a novice chef uniform, partially bent over a wooden workbench in midstride of piping macaroons. The mutant looks away grinning earnestly declaring, “I’ve seen her before!”
“How?” Flug sputters. “I’ve only met this person today! How could you have met them?!”
The young woman puffs out her chest smirking down at the scientist. “Two months ago after Blackie gave me an assignment! Yeah, now I remember! I took care of a hero blackie was super mad at and –‘
Her voice slowly fades to the background as Flug tries to recall his portion of that day.
‘If I remember correctly, Demencia was assigned to take care of Starshine – a new heroine that was putting in heavy damage to BH's clients. Demencia got careless and was stabbed in the hand by an interloping anti-hero. But when she returned, aside from the shiner of a black eye and minor cuts, the right hand was already treated; professionally dressed, cleaned, stitched, and gauzed. It was so well done I could have believed she went to the hospital.’
“- and then she gave me the best brownie I've ever had! Like, holy shit Flug, it was awesome! And then she drove me downtown before I doubled back to the mansion.”
Flug blinks as Demencia has stopped talking. ‘Shit,’ he thinks, ‘ I might have missed some vital information.’ “i-is that so? Thanks for clearing that up then.”
Demencia quirks a brow with a smirk, “So why the research nerd?”
Rubbing the side of his bag, Flug sighs. “Boss wanted more information on the caterers – Samantha owner of the bakery I visited- lives here and all of her information was easy to find. Amaya however…it’s like any deeper information is nonexistent. I only have the basics.”
The mutant giggles. “How interesting! ...Or boring if there really is nothing else. But why kill yourself over background checks? Y’know BH can kill them if he doesn’t like how the party turns out. ”
The exhausted young man leans away from the keyboard mulling that deadly possibility over. ‘Even if this chef is part of the supernatural as BH claims, he could easily kill them but why go through all the effort?’ Flug half spins in the chair muttering until stopping harshly, causing the young woman to blink.
“ Demencia,’ Flug pauses mind working hard to phrase his next words carefully, ‘how would you like to get me coffee?”
“No!” is the cheerful response. Flug smirks under his mask.
“Oh? You don’t want to go to the café that BH is obtaining the catering service from?
The young mutant shrieks in delight. “Why didn’t you say that first?! Alright, nerd, I’ll get your stupid coffee.” With that, she exits; climbing the walls with unnatural ease prying opening a vent door before slithering into it. The slight shuffles and giggling are the only parting sounds as the scientist is left by himself. Returning to his desk Flug takes out schematics and plans of various inventions, scribbling and crossing out unsavory variables and equations.
_~~~_
“You did what?!” A shrill voice cries startling midmorning patrons. A few beats of silence and light pop music soothe the customers to the task of buying goods, typing away on computers, or continuing conversations. Down the hallway of the café, an office door is partway open; the rapid back and forth pacing of a moderately tall peach-skinned woman with smooth rosy blonde hair can be seen.
“You should really calm down Sam’ a pseudo calm voice calls out. Further into the room is a seated __, posture leaning forward as her hands hold up her head, eyes slowly catching the fast pacing of her employer.
Dark sapphire eyes glare at the other woman. “are you actually insane or high? Seriously?’
A scoff.
“For the last time, I don’t smoke. Well, not unless I'm really stressed.
“For fucks sake Amaya what were you thinking?! You already start shit with my nephew-
“No.” it's dark and harsh, snapping the older woman’s pacing instantly. “Your shit nephew needs some goddamn manners and a ServSafe before he can approach me again. And again Samantha, why don’t Pat and Martha have a ServSafe?!”
The last part is practically roared as Samantha is silenced as well as the front part of the café again. Inhale, exhale. “Before we get sued, Samatha, I want those two to have their ServSafe certificates by the end of the month.”
The owner of the establishment seems to snap out of shock. “No, you don’t get to talk to my family-
“Shut up!’ Amaya sounds downright savage, all civility went from her voice. “Ever since you promoted your darling nephew, he’s amplified his bullshit by thinking he can talk down to everyone that works here. And I know for a fact that this isn’t the first time you’ve gotten a complaint about him. So yeah, I’m talking shit about him. While we’re still talking about him, why is he taking out production despite the schedule we both set up?”
‘What?’
Amaya snorts, ‘of fucking course you wouldn’t know. Okay then, Nat and Arthur have brought to my attention that when you or I am not around, pat and Martha have taken the liberty of taking the baked goods they want despite our production schedule. And not only them too, I’ve gotten texts from the afternoon shift as well so let’s talk about that as well.”
Sam, now fully seated in a computer chair, rolls closer to her coworker. “I'll handle Pat. Don’t give me that look, I will. I know I dropped the ball with him and Martha with ServSafe but-
“You can't do that,’ Amaya hisses,’ for the last time if someone gets sick when they do a food service check this place is done. End of story. Get them certified.”
The older woman rubs the bridge between her nose and eyebrows. “And Black Hat?”
A slow blink. ‘ I know I’m the odd one out around these parts when I tell you I'm not well versed on the feud over here –
A scoff. ‘ No kidding, it’s like you live under a fucking rock!’
“ – But, I am no fool to refuse a villain; especially one who is feared by all villains.’ Pulling over the calendar, the letter from BH as well as the check to Samantha she gestures. “And if all goes well with him consider this even.”
The older woman nearly shrieks at the amount on the check. “Holy shit! What the fuck, holy shit! Why so much?!”
Amaya chuckles leaning back in her chair. “If I were a betting man I would say for our silence. I know our products are good and our staff has amazing service, that’s a given, but a villain hiring outside his circle of business defiantly means he’s buying our silence.”
“Consider me mute at this point on then.” They both chuckle at that. Samantha straightens up again. “What if I fired you?”
A non-committal shrug. “I’m not exactly hurting for money Sam. And it’s not cause I want to give you a heart attack either, but believe me when I say – refusing would have been the death of us.”
It's Samantha’s turn to lean back in the chair and groan. “You know I hate you sometimes, right?’
The ebony woman stands and stretches letting a weak chuckle slip. “Wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m going to prep for the afternoon rush before I go on break. Catch you later boss.”
Nodding, Samantha places the papers onto her desk before shouting for her nephew as the chef leaves with a smug smirk towards the kitchen. Once cleaning hands and re-administering an apron and bandana, Amaya arranges slices of bread, cheeses, meats, vegetables along with bottled condiments before attending to a meal prep sheet.
“Everything is all set, now it’s just side dishes and I’m in the clear.”
Amaya walks to a counter turning on a portable black speaker with an aux cord connected to a mobile phone. Fast jivin’ saxophones, horns, pianos with an occasional modern beat tempo filled the air. Time passes faster with music – sandwiches are all constructed and wrapped until further use, a rectangular basin container packed with potato wedges hydrated with saltwater and limes, and a huge bowl of cabbage slaw secured with cling wrap. Grabbing a cart, the chef piles all of her production into the walk-in labeling with names and dates, she walks back out discarding soiled gloves and apron. A quick clean and the kitchen is moderately in order; with a strong hum of content, the ebony chef strides down the hallway passing coworkers and patrons with a loose wave before exiting the café.
A several-minute walk into town leads the young woman into a compact restaurant building wedged between a real-estate building and a post office. Pulling open the door, a tingle of a bell is heard as the young woman walks in hearing the loud scents and sounds from the kitchen ad counter staff ready calls and orders on the phones. One of the restaurant staff waves to Amaya beckoning her over with a notepad and pen at the ready.
Welcome back!” is the thickly accented voice belonging to a middle-aged Asian man. ‘What are you having today?”
With a chirp the ebony youth requests, “Uncle, give me mapo tofu, egg fried rice and twice-cooked pork belly.” The older man grins hearing his native tongue spoken by the foreigner.
“Practicing again are we?”
“Yes!” A brief pause. “Also a Thai iced tea and two sesame red bean buns please.”
A laugh from not only the older man but a couple of his associates as well. “Your Cantonese is getting better. Your order will be ready in twenty.”
Satisfied, the chef plops down on a waiting bench looking upwards by a TV bolted in the upper corner of the restaurant. Commercials flash across the screen until the international news returns discussing the most recent celebrity tabloids, weather, economics, and international affairs. After a sequence of various news segments, a jarring beeping tone emits from the TV as a red banner with white letters scroll along the bottom of the screen: BREAKING NEWS HERO VS VILLIAN FIGHT
Amaya merely sighs as some of the staff pauses at the television. ‘Not again, there’s a fight every week…like chill for once.’
‘Uncle’ quickly reappears with the tea and desserts. “The rest of your order is still being made. What are you frowning at?
The young chef rises to meet the older man to retrieve the food. “The t.v – another hero and villain fight. The way they go at it I’m surprised the city can fund the repair costs so quickly.
A sad chuckle escapes from the Asian man's mouth. “Why do you think the taxes are so high here?”
Amaya only blinks in response which receives a genuine laugh in turn.
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End of Chapter One