Chapter Text
Ghost was not a particularly social vampire nor a very adventurous one, he thought. He generally kept to himself except for his fighting with the 141st Legion against the shadow demon army that threatened to destroy the entire earth. Typical vampire things, considering the undead were the best to fight shadow demons. After all, it was hard to draw the life force out of an enemy when said enemy didn’t have one.
Ghost preferred this life of near-solitude, only really bonding (barely) with the others in the 141 and spending off time training to be better, maintaining his abilities and physical form, and rarely, sleeping. Really, he liked it much better than trying to pretend to be human and do human things or gods forbid, trying to get along with his own kind. Most of them were arrogant knob-ends with high opinions of themselves and their “species” as a whole. Gaz was the only one of his kind he could really stand to be around for longer than a few minutes.
Unfortunately, he was also a little weak to the fledgling. First of all, because he was a fledgling. Younger vamps had a tendency to be less of a shriveled up old windbag and still had a bit of vibrancy and life left in them, metaphorically speaking. Ghost liked that better and tended to get a little protective of younger vamps too. Some instinct, he supposed. Secondly, Gaz was very pretty and Ghost struggled to reject a pretty face. Third, Gaz was competent and easy to work with, giving Ghost less stress in the field. It made him more lenient when he asked for stressful things off the field.
So when Gaz excitedly pleaded with Ghost to come with him to a coffee shop he’d discovered the day before, he found himself saying “sure” instead of “hell no, why would I do that”. And once he said it, he couldn’t just back down, so there he was in front of a cafe proclaiming itself to be “the Moonlit Cup”.
It was dark and the windows were even tinted, but the black-painted Victorian style on the outside was enough for Ghost to recognize the goth theme.
“Seriously?” Ghost said dryly, casting Gaz an equally dry look.
“Look closer at the sign,” Gaz said excitedly.
Ghost frowned and looked back at the old style wooden sign that swung gently above the door. There was the name in an old style font and a painting of a cup with a crescent moon inside it. But if he squinted, he could see the impression of magic on it. He focused on the magic and he could see fine print under the name.
“All supernaturals peacefully welcome,” he read out.
He grunted.
“That’s unusual,” he commented, glancing over the cafe again.
“Wait ‘til you meet Soap!” Gaz laughed.
He grabbed Ghost’s sleeve and started tugging him toward the door.
“The hell kinda name is Soap??” Ghost wondered.
Gaz either didn’t have an answer for that or didn’t care as he dragged Ghost into the cafe.
The interior was decorated with dark colors and that same Victorian sort of style, but expanded further on the theme. It was decorated with skulls, ravens, and bats like it was Halloween, for fuck’s sake. There were even paintings on the walls of supernatural creatures and they were actually accurate. The owner must’ve been a fan of the supernatural and very goth or else had gone to painstaking effort to look like it.
In front of them was the counter with a fairly extensive menu on the wall behind it. There were tables along the large tinted windows, but there was also a large archway that led into another area full of tables that didn’t have windows. A darkened area with low lighting, perhaps for those sensitive to sunlight and light in general. Ghost’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
Gaz stopped in front of the counter, letting go of him and he looked back around. Now behind the counter was obviously a barista, wearing a black and silver uniform including a hat and an apron. A name tag on their chest introduced them as Soap, he/him and several pins decorated the space below it. One of which said “I am the manager AND the owner, Karen.” Immensely fascinating was the button that declared “friend” in the form of Gaelic that the fae used.
Even more interesting to Ghost though was the fact Soap was pretty. He had gorgeous eyes, even half-shadowed by his hat. He had an even more gorgeous smile, a genuine one that he graciously chose to share with Gaz and Ghost. He had a bit of dark scruff on his face and a matching thick braid over one shoulder. His hand lifted as he greeted them and Ghost could see the sparkling impression of magic on his fingers. He felt like his tongue abruptly got knotted in his throat and tried to swallow around it.
“Gaz, wasn’t it?” Soap asked, lowering his hand, “Who’s your friend?”
Gods have mercy, he even had a Scottish accent. Ghost was going to step out into the sun in his skivvies. He could not be normal around the gorgeous barista.
“This is Ghost,” Gaz introduced.
“Ah, I can work with the incorporeal,” Soap assured Ghost, “No worries aboot that.”
“No, that’s just my name,” Ghost dismissed, shaking his head.
“The fuck kinda name is Ghost?” Soap scoffed.
“Comin’ from Soap??” Ghost countered incredulously.
Soap laughed and oh god that was even worse. Ghost was going to lose his mind.
“You got me there,” Soap conceded, “So you’re like Gaz then?”
Ghost nodded and Soap pulled a piece of laminated paper out from under the counter, laying it down in front of them. Gaz picked it up to show Ghost, it was decorated with splatters of red paint. Like blood.
“Look, he makes drinks with synthetic blood,” Gaz explained.
Ghost frowned, glancing at Soap briefly before focusing on the menu. There was a surprising number of drinks on it. One included blood tea in a variety of leaves.
“Blood tea?” He scoffed.
“That’s popular ‘roond here,” Soap said, snorting, “Fuckin’ Brits.”
“I had it, it’s good,” Gaz assured.
Ghost hummed, not sure he believed that.
“Come on, you have to try somethin’,” Gaz coaxed.
Then he turned on the puppy eyes and Ghost huffed, averting his own eyes.
“Fine,” he agreed, “I’ll take the tea. Black.”
“Sure thing,” Soap said, punching some buttons on his register, “And for you?”
“Cappuccino, please,” Gaz requested, sliding the menu back across the counter.
“And a bloody cappuccino,” Soap murmured, punching more buttons.
He put away the menu as he told them the price and Ghost nudged Gaz aside to pay.
“Find a seat and I’ll bring it right oot,” Soap informed them cheerfully.
Ghost followed Gaz into the dark area, relaxing a bit when they sat fully out of range of the sun. He pulled the mask part of his hood down, letting it drop around his neck and glanced around briefly before slipping off his sunglasses. No one was looking at them, but it didn’t make him feel comfortable enough to drop his hood.
“You really need to do sunscreen, mate,” Gaz tutted.
“Greasepaint, sunglasses, and cloth works just as well,” Ghost dismissed, “What do you know about this Soap bloke?”
“He’s got a mohawk braid,” Gaz answered, “You’ll probably see. He takes his hat off when he brings the drinks.”
“Not what I was askin’, but unusual,” Ghost snorted, “I meant, do you know what kinda witch he is?”
Gaz shrugged.
“Just met him yesterday,” he pointed out.
Ghost hummed. It wasn’t that he distrusted witches, it was that he distrusted everyone until they gave him a reason to feel otherwise. And this setup was odd. He’d never seen anything like it before. All supernatural-friendly businesses he’d seen were hidden and did their best to keep humans out of them. Yet this fool was in broad daylight, practically boasting about what he allowed here. Surely there was some trick.
Ghost saw Soap bustling around the corner holding a tray and did his best not to tense as he warily watched him approach. He did in fact have a mohawk braid that was a little squashed from wearing his hat, the sides of his head buzzed with swirling patterns. His eyes looked even more gorgeous without his hat and his eyelashes even more delicate in better lighting.
“Here you are, a black tea and a cappuccino for the thirsty vamps,” he announced cheerfully as he reached them, putting their cups in front of them, “And here’s somethin’ extra for youse, on the house.”
He put down two small plates, each with a little cake on top. Gaz’s was shaped like a coffin and Ghost’s had a skull made of frosting. Ghost looked up at him, frowning a bit and found him looking right at him with a brilliant smile. It was practically blinding.
“Looked like you could use somethin’ sweet,” he said as he tucked the empty tray under his arm, “To combat that sour attitude.”
Ghost huffed indignantly and Soap winked at him before turning to saunter away. Ghost watched him leave a bit too closely and then looked around at Gaz who had an eyebrow arched at him.
“I think the barista is flirtin’ with you,” he said bluntly.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ghost scoffed, “Didn’t you hear him? Said I have a sour attitude.”
“And gave you free cake for it,” Gaz pointed out.
“It’s probably dog shit,” Ghost insisted, “Old and stale.”
“Whatever you say, mate,” Gaz said, shaking his head.
He picked up his cup to take a drink and hummed contentedly. Ghost hesitated before picking up his own. It was a deep red-brown, almost like the color of dried blood. He lifted it to his lips and sipped. His eyebrows went up as a mixture of tea and blood slid over his tongue.
It was, to start with, a perfect mixture of tea and blood. They complimented each other rather than fighting over Ghost’s taste buds which was something he rarely saw in blood mixed drinks. More than that though, it was real blood. Ghost knew synthetic blood and he knew real blood and that was real blood. He tipped back more of it, letting it sit in his mouth before swallowing it down.
“That’s real blood,” he announced with certainty.
“It’s synthetic,” Gaz disagreed, “It’s Fictus, I’ve seen the bottles.”
Ghost frowned at his cup. Fictus was the most high end synthetic blood there was, nearly indistinguishable from the real thing. Except to some very rare vamps who happened to have slightly better senses than the rest of them. Vamps who could literally sniff out shadow demons who to most had no scent, who could hear at least a kilometer in any direction, and who could taste the subtle differences in blood type.
Ghost, sitting there with scent blockers in his nose and reverse hearing aids in his ears, was holding a cup of tea mixed with human blood, type A positive. He looked over as Soap bustled to a table carrying innocuous looking cups. He spoke to the customers, telling them to enjoy and looked in Ghost’s direction as he turned to leave them. He grinned at Ghost and waved, the magic on his fingers seeming to shimmer in the low light. Ghost’s eyes narrowed even as he lifted his hand to wave back. What in the world are you playing at, witch?